Do I Dare?
by Ayra Sei Ethari
Summary: Do I dare to crash a Senatorial Gala and dance with a "sexy" guy? *gulp* Yes. Do I dare to later go on a date with this guy? Uh . . . yes. Do I dare to kiss this guy? Um . . . still working on the first two. Oh, the guy's name? *wince* Obi-Wan Kenobi.
1. Prologue

**_Do I Dare?_**

_Summary:_ Do I dare to crash a Senatorial Gala and dance with a "sexy" guy? *gulp* Yes. Do I dare to later go on a date with this guy? Uh . . . yes. Do I dare to kiss this guy? Um . . . still working on the first two. Oh, the guy's name? *wince* Obi-Wan Kenobi.

_Rating:_ T due to the complexity of the storyline and some of the more suggestive parts of the story

_Genre:_ friendship ; humor ; romance

_Canon Character(s):_ Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi (38); ; Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker (22)

_OC Character(s):_ Elaine Kyna ; Luciana ; Ash

_Set During:_ after ROTS

_Note:_ For this fic, please pretend that Anakin Skywalker actually did kill Darth Sidious when he went to the Chancellor's Office and that the war is over and so on. It'll make things so much easier.

* * *

><p><em>Prologue<em>

~ _Elaine Kyna_ ~  
>It was just supposed to be a fun game.<p>

Ash, one of my best friends, coaxed me to go on a girls' night out. She was just basically complaining that I didn't see her or the rest of my friends too much; after all, I did have a sick father to care for on top of trying to take care of all the bills on my own. I told her it wasn't my fault. But she still shamed me into arranging for at least one night we could all get together and relax.

Unfortunately or fortunately, I agreed to her demands.

After the shopping and the dinner, we had sat down and started reminiscing over the events that had happened when our friendship was strong during school. Then Luciana had suggested that we play a game.

Unfortunately or fortunately, I agreed to play with them.

The game was truth or dare. The results were mildly amusing.

Hilena had gone first. Her truth had been how far in the relationship she was with her boyfriend. Her blush and subsequent refusal to answer had resulted in a full-blown interrogation for several minutes.

Then it was Luciana's turn. Her dare got us a big glare, but it wasn't too bad – after all, it was a hot night and pouring a drink over yourself wasn't too bad.

Then Ash went. She clammed up about her truth – how far she was in her plot to get _me_ hooked up with someone. I pressed her, but she didn't say much only that she was getting there. And I had to be content with that.

Finally, they turned on me. Ash forced me to take a dare – and then she delivered the worst dare possible.

Unfortunately, I had to do it now.

So now I stand here, shaking with fear and wondering what will happen to me, as I peer into the grand hall. So far, Luciana's forged documents had gotten me in, but I was afraid of tempting fate. There were some pretty important people here, and if I got caught, they might think I was trying to do harm to someone important. And that sort of thing would land me in jail for a very long time, as I don't think the judge would approve of my tale of my going simply being motivated by a truth-or-dare game.

I take a deep breath and prepared to step forth.

It was just supposed to be a fun game.

What it did in reality was that it turned my entire life upside down – for the worse or the better, I can't yet tell.

After all, unfortunately or fortunately, I made the choice to go along with everything.

And thus unfortunately or fortunately, I must deal with the consequences – good and bad – of my choice.

Secretly, though, I wonder if the good is worth the bad that is sure to follow.


	2. Chapter 1

**_Dare Number 1_**

_Do I dare to crash a Senatorial Gala and dance with a "sexy" guy?_

I wandered around the Senatorial Gala, feeling particularly out of place. I was in the fanciest dress I had ever owned – deep sapphire blue, broken only by the delicate gold outlines delineating flowers and the black velvet sash that encircled my waist. Ash had braided some of my hair and then wrapped it around, like a tiara of hair, into which I had later added some of the yellow flowers that grew in the flower boxes on my window. It was a suitable outfit, they had thought, enough to pass scrutiny.

Except for one thing.

I wore no jewelry. In fact, I _had_ no jewelry, really, except the wedding ring my father had given my mother, and there was no way I was wearing that.

And _that_ stood out.

Every female here – well, every female that belonged to a culture that adorned itself with jewels as a fashion statement – had jewelry, some of it elegant and some of it . . . well, _not_. There some pearls adorned the neck and hair of a duchess dancing to my left; and there, diamonds glittered all over that lady's numerous rings; and to my right, a Senator's gown was drenched in rubies and amethysts.

I felt horribly out of place.

The only breaks in the lovely gowns were the seemingly drab robes of the Jedi attending. I had glimpsed one or two coming in; they played the role of part-security backup, part negotiator, part just-be-there. The Order, after all, was playing a major role in how the war went, and it was important that they assure their supporters in the Senate that they weren't incompetent – no matter how much their opponents said so or how much public opinion had turned against them.

Well . . . public in the loosest sense.

I swear, whenever Luciana or Hilena saw a Jedi, they were likely to blush and titter and maybe even soon – well, if the Jedi in question would have come to their rescue. They fancied themselves in love with half the Order.

Unless, of course, it came Anakin Skywalker.

The Hero With No Fear.

The great warrior of the Republic.

The Chosen One of the Jedi.

Oh, yes, he was much favored in our circles. He was handsome, strong, powerful, and famous – everything they wanted.

So – fast forward through blushing/tittering/swooning – they often spent their time complaining how it was such a waste that Jedi could not marry.

Or dance, it seemed, for I saw none on the floor now. The pretty girl across from me had tried once, but the Jedi had turned it down with a gentle hand motion and a firm word. I hadn't seen his face, due to the hood, but I suspected that – like all Jedi – the girl had been attracted to their fame and strength.

Thankfully, no one had yet asked to dance with _me_ except one of the polite young men coming out for the first time. He had really just needed a partner to shield him from his glaring mother; I had acquiesced timidly, and he had gallantly braved my rather shaky dancing.

I hadn't learned formal dancing, well, formally – unless you had counted the dance classes I had taken as a child.

Afterwards, he had thanked me and I had thanked him, trying to keep my voice from shaking. And then he had vanished, and I had stuck to the background, lingering near the tables of food and drink and trying to coax the longest amount of time to drink the juice I had with me so as to dissuade any observers.

The last I needed would be to get caught.

The only problem with dissuading partners was that I was painfully aware of the second part of the dare – that I had to dance. And not just with anyone; it had to be with someone I found, in Ash's words, "sexy".

Gods help me the day I used that word to describe _anyone_.

The thing was, even though I was still scanning the enormous crowd, I couldn't find anyone who remotely fit it. And those that perhaps could were either scowling at the crowd and fumbling with annoyed fingers at their suits or dancing away the night gazing moon-struck at the woman with them. All in all, lost cause.

I glanced at the chrono and released a tiny groan.

Two more hours.

Ugh.

Why was it, I wondered, that when I prayed for things to last longer they sped up and yet when I prayed for things to speed up they slowed down? The faster this gala went, the faster I could book it and get out uncaught. . .

Hoping to dissuade the showily-dressed man who had been eyeing me for a while now, I wondered in a seemingly random path to the table piled with drinks and dishes. I couldn't even place an originating world to half this stuff, much less a name. . . At random, I selected a medium-sized glass of gently fizzing pale yellow-green . . . wine, I supposed it was, and raised it to my lips.

"I would not try that, if I were you."

I jumped at least three feet in the air at the voice, and it was only by the biggest miracle in the universe that nothing spilled.

_Gods above, what in the galaxy's name was that?_

But no – it was no illusion, for the voice continued speaking.

"Unless, of course, you have a very strong sense of adventure – and a particularly strong stomach," the voice finished, smooth but with a sense of . . . amusement.

I turned, and this time I really did let the glass slip through my fingers in shock.

A man stood before me, one eyebrow raised, and dressed in a well-groomed – well, formerly well-groomed – outfit with a general's insignia embroidered on his clothes where the breast pocket would have been. Brown combat boots and a belt with various objects on it completed the outfit, as though he was a bizarre hybrid between Senate security, Outer Rim bounty hunter, and Kaminoan clone general.

But he was obviously of a high standing, his rank as a general notwithstanding, for I could hear in his voice the clipped, cultured, educated accent that marked him for having grown up in the Core and a superior education.

A high-standing general I had just doused with whatever-that-had-been.

"I'm so sorry . . . ?"

He bowed slightly. "General . . . Ben Owen," he filled in cheerfully.

_Uh-oh._ The other guy hadn't asked me my name. . . I didn't have the time to make a fake one – but what if this guy knew all the people who were supposed to be here? Or what if he realized that the way I spoke – which was distinctively _not_ upper-class Coruscanti – meant I didn't belong here? Or what if –

Steeling myself, I finally answered, "Elaine Kyna."

Now _everyone_ was staring at me. Everyone. Even some of the Jedi I could spot were starting to head over, some with frowns, others with patient expressions. And then the clone units stationed at the door marched over to the audience.

I wanted to curl up and be swallowed by the floor.

"Is there any problem here?" one of them asked in the programmed mechanical voice.

Ben spoke suddenly from where he had appeared, crouching, by my side. "No, Commander. . . Although I think this lady is in need of a place to clean up."

The clone nodded, and his unit swiveled and marched away, perfectly in formation.

"Come," Ben added, looking at me.

I fearfully placed my hand in the one he offered, surprised at the warmth and the calluses that lined his hands, as though he was used to wielding weapons.

He swept me off to a side room down the hallway from the main entrance, speaking quietly to a servant he caught as I went inside.

I looked at the mirror and sighed. It wasn't that bad – but it wasn't that good either. Part of the skirt was drenched, the liquid fortunately being light enough not to really show against the dark blue of the dress, but it still didn't help much.

There was a knock on the door, and then Ben entered. He frowned at my dress. "How is it coming?" he asked.

I sighed. "Not good," I said without thinking.

He smiled slightly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. In one quick movement, he shrugged out of the cloak he was wearing and offered it to me. When I hesitated to accept it and then to put it on, he teased gently, "It will not bite you, you know. . ."

Hiding my fear and embarrassment, I slipped it on. It was made for a larger build than me, and so it easily concealed the discolored splotch at the edge of my skirt.

"Calm down, Miss Kyna," he said suddenly.

I glanced up, feeling the heat in my cheeks, to see the gentle smile he offered me.

"Others have done worse, you know," he told me softly. "Do not worry. . . I doubt many will remember, or care. And this is only your first or second, I presume; it is forgivable. I do not think your parents will hold it against you."

At the thought of my parents, I felt the soft ache I always did whenever someone forgot. Only he hadn't forgotten.

"What is it?"

I looked at him, startled. The smile was gone, replaced by concern – but how had he known?

"Your expression," he answered mildly. "Now, what is wrong? If you wish to go home – "

"No, no," I interrupted quickly. "It's not that." _First, I can't yet._ "It's just . . . well . . . My mother is dead. Has been dead."

Something strange flickered in his expression. "Oh. I see." He surveyed me, the sad smile returning. "You have my condolences then. . . I know it is hard."

"You've lost a parent?"

"I've never known my mother," he revealed matter-of-factly. "But yes, my father died over ten years ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry. . . I didn't mean – "

He laughed. "If there is anyone to apologize, it is me, Miss Kyna. I startled you."

"That doesn't excuse my clumsiness."

He shrugged. "We all grow out of it in our own terms. I was clumsy once too."

"I don't believe that."

Ben moved almost unnaturally graceful; I had never seen the like, even among the dancers of some of the operas I most loved. He seemed more at home here than the dancers seemed in the water, as though he glided through life with more ease than was possible.

There was another knock; I jumped.

A servant proffered a shirt to Ben, who shed his own soiled one within seconds.

I blushed even more and whirled myself around, squeezing my eyes tightly shut and biting my lips and pinching my fingers together. But that wasn't enough to shut out the image that had hit me when Ben had shed his shirt – the scars crisscrossing a back that shone bronze under the glare of the lights, with muscles rippling under the skin. And that, combined with the way he had smiled at me, with his blue-green eyes alight with amusement and surrounded by his copper hair. . .

I cursed Ash under my breath.

And I had hoped to get away with just saying I hadn't found anyone who fit my definition of "sexy".

Curse her! She had made me clumsy – I usually wasn't this bad – and as a result, I had found someone who could fit that definition.

A hand touched my shoulder; I jumped again.

"You can turn around now." There was a soft laugh. "And you can stop blushing."

That only made me blush more, but thankfully he was fully dressed again. There was something strange about his shirt, but I couldn't tell what. . .

But by then he was already taking my hand and leading me back to the dance floor.

"So . . . have you been to these often?" I asked in the most impassive voice I could muster as we strolled along the edges of the gala.

He shrugged, his hands interlocked carefully behind his back. He was an imposing figure, I supposed, but at least he was friendly now that I knew him. And at least now I didn't look so awkward now that I had a person to talk to.

"A few," he replied nonchalantly. "One tires of them quicker than one thinks. . . And I have little patience for these types of ceremonies anyway." He turned his gaze to me. "And you?"

I tried to hold his gaze and not let my voice shake. "This is my first."

He smiled. "That would explain your confusion. . . In the interest of preserving your appetite, I would suggest choosing meals that come from _that_ end of the table; it's more designed for the humanoid palate."

"Oh. Thank you?"

Ben frowned suddenly as he gazed at the dance floor, and I heard him mutter something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "What is he thinking?"

"What is it?" I inquired without thinking.

"Oh, nothing," he lied easily, turning his gaze back to me without any apparent effort.

I leaned a bit to the left and glanced around him. And frowned myself. The floor was crowded with dancers, so who was he –

And then I saw.

The floor was clearing now, with more and more pairs moving away from the flamboyant pair in the middle. The woman was clad in a blood red satin dress, her wild curls tumbling along the dress. A strand of rubies adorned her throat; a net of pearls, her hair. She was breathtaking. Her partner was clad in the drab brown and cream robes that identified him as belonging to the Jedi Order – but he more than made up for his lack of style with his skill. They were practically _flying_ over the dance floor, in moves so elegant the eye could only just follow them.

"Anakin Skywalker?"

Ben cast an amused glance my way. "You know him?"

I blushed again. I hadn't realized that in my excitement I had spoken aloud the name of the man I had just recognized.

"Well . . . no . . . but . . . Who doesn't?" I finally managed to stammer out.

"Point," he murmured.

I looked at him, and something seemed to click. "Do _you_ know him?" I asked curiously, for Anakin Skywalker was – after all – a Republic general as well.

Ben pursed his lips, but he answered anyways. "I've served with him a few times in this war, but as to knowing him? I guess that's something only he can judge. I certainly won't claim that I know Anakin better than anyone else."

"Oh."

Without thinking, I slowly wandered a little closer. Anakin was not my slice of cake . . . but still, he was as sight to behold. I had never seen a more ostentatious man. And he was a Jedi too. . . My first close glimpse of one.

I put my foot out and only at the last moment became aware that someone else was crossing my wandering path.

A hand closed on my upper arm and yanked me back just in time to avoid having yet another spill with liquid. The waiter hurried past us, oblivious to anything, as Ben's grip on my arm relaxed.

It was too late, though.

For that brief moment, I had been pressed against his chest – and felt the explosive blossom of attraction within me.

Curse Ash.

Ben smiled as he let me go. "Apparently Anakin is more of a fascinating sight than I thought," he commented lightly – but there was something in his eyes, something almost . . . hurt.

I blushed anyways. "No. . . I'm just not very observant."

"I somehow doubt that."

His eyes remained fixed on my face as he spoke, and there was almost a . . . an intensity . . . about it that made butterflies flutter in my stomach.

Boys had never paid much attention to me, the bookworm, the nerd, the scholar. I had been called pretty occasionally, but never in romantic or even admiring terms – mainly to say that I was wasting my beauty studying as I did. But I couldn't help it; I didn't want or need the attention of the other gender.

Until now.

Abruptly, Ben said, "I've been neglecting you. . . If this is your first, then you should get a taste everything. You've had your share of embarrassment; now you should have your share of fun."

Before I could stammer out more than a flustered "What?" I found myself whirling on to the dance floor.

He guided me expertly, seeming to know almost exactly when I found myself on the verge of falling and how exactly to turn it into a flourish that made the stumble seem part of the dance, and elegant at that. And just as he had said, I soon found myself laughing as he whispered observations or muttered comments in my ears as we danced, sometimes full of amusement, sometimes slightly annoyed.

By the time it was the end, I almost found myself wishing that it hadn't ended. But when I saw the time, I knew I had to leave.

"I'm so sorry, General, but – "

"You need to go?"

At my nod, he started walking with me as I headed out the main entrance. He seemed uncharacteristically silent and somber – or perhaps I had made him laugh too much and he was now regaining his composure.

The second thought made my heart clench, but for reasons I didn't understand.

Or perhaps just didn't want to.

I didn't have the time, or the inclination, or the right to fall in love after a mere two hours with a man I barely knew. Especially not a Republic general.

"Miss Kyna."

I stopped, startled out of my thinking at his voice.

He was looking at me with another emotion I could not interpret, like a mix between resignation and resistance. He was struggling with something.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"I . . . I hope that tonight was a good experience for you," he said almost formally, his voice stiff.

My heart clenched and eased, as I allowed myself a faint, ironic smile. _See?_ I told myself. _There is nothing special here. . . And it's time to go back, and recover your old life – and get revenge on Ash too._

"Good night, then. And thank you, General Owen."

With that, I made to turn away and leave – only to find my hand suddenly snatched rather abruptly.

"Wait. Please."

I turned back, and I could feel my heart pounding.

The struggle was clear on his face now, and it was such an odd display. . . I would never have thought a general could seem so vulnerable to allow the emotions to blow so clearly across one's face like a datascreen.

"Miss Kyna – Elaine," he amended, his voice softening.

"Yes?" I managed to stammer, my heart fluttering when he said my name instead of the formal title.

"I . . ." He hesitated again. "I hope to see you again sometime. I enjoyed . . . this night . . . with you."

"I did too."

My words broke out before I could think them over, and I knew they were ill-spoken.

But he didn't comment.

If anything, the resistance seemed to burn all the brighter in his eyes as he looked at me, surprise clear.

"Good night," I said hastily. I needed to get away before I said something else stupid. I needed to _get away_. Now. And run far far away.

He released me, almost seemingly to fall back into resignation, disappointment giving way to impassive control. I couldn't see his eyes, but I assumed that they too were back under control. He had to be. He was a general. He didn't have time for a girl like me – even if he did like me, which I highly doubted.

I was halfway down the corridor when he suddenly called, "Elaine!"

I turned, just as he stopped in front of me, as though he had . . . as though he had come after me. What in the galaxy could be this important that he –

In one swift movement, he pulled me to him and pushed something in my suddenly frozen and numb hand.

"Keep in touch," he told me. "And call me Ben."

Then he was gone.

There was only room for two emotions as I stared, disbelieving, down the corridor where he had somehow vanished within a single blink of my eye.

One – my heart was pounding, and I felt the urge to call him _this night_, to tell him . . . Tell him what? Something, anything – anything that would get him to smile at me as he had, to look at me as he had, to hold me as he had. Anything.

Two – I was going to kill Ash for getting me into this.


	3. Chapter 2

**_Dare Number 2_**

_Do I dare to later go on a date with this guy?_

Raving red. Bombed blue. Yucky yellow. General green. Washed-out white.

"Can I get you anything, miss?"

I looked up from my contemplation of the painting on the wall, distracted by the metallic voice of the serving droid, which was now looking at me with its usual impassive mask and supposedly polite expression. This was the third one that had come over to me in this past half hour asking if I wanted to get anything more.

With a very forced smile, I gestured to my half-drained glass. "No, I'm fine, thank you," I said, forcing a polite note in my tone.

Satisfied, the droid rolled away to annoy other customers.

I checked the chrono and felt the sinking feeling in my stomach get a little worse. It was 1710 hours.

_He said he'd be here at 1700 hours _at the latest_. At the _latest_, 1700 hours._

I had nearly _pounced_ on Ash at our next meeting, but of course she and the others had barely let me get a word out after I had confirmed I had gotten in and out and had danced with a guy. She had told – no, downright _demanded_ that I go out a formal date with him. And it hadn't helped that at that moment he had chosen to call me (we had exchanged numbers after I had decided to be polite and call to thank him and he had gone and asked for my number because he claimed he was busy and would have to call back) and my comlink had gone off – within their hearing range.

So I had tried to maintain my decorum with them giggling and whispering and plotting in the background.

Finally, though, Ash had stolen the comlink and had Luciana talk while she demanded I go out on a date. It was either, she said, that I ask him or she would for me.

Furiously, I had given in. Oh, I had shunned her for quite some time afterwards as revenge, but . . . inside, I was slightly thankful for her intervention. I would have been way too shy to arrange this on my own, but . . . but I was . . . slightly . . . looking forward to it.

Or had been.

I didn't know much about the guy, but I didn't think that being late was exactly the best thing as a signal to me about his feelings for me. If anything, it was now making me question why on I had agreed – and make me curse Ash even more for getting me into this. She was going to be in a lot of trouble when I finally decided to leave.

_Five minutes_, I decided. _I'll give it five more minutes. Then I'll get out of here as fast as possible and go beat Ash up._

So I went back to staring at the painting, knowing that my sour thoughts were the reason it appeared so ugly to me but unable to do anything to distract myself from dwelling on it. I had to think about something, anything, other than the fact that he was late.

I glanced at the chrono again. _3 minutes._

I causally cast my eyes out towards the window, but even despite the enormous press of people outside this café, I could not spot the distinctive copper hair or immaculate uniform of a general.

My hope slid a little further.

This café wasn't the classiest on Coruscant, but it wasn't the lowest either; it was well-kept, and neat, and the service was pretty good. I had been here a few times during school field trips to the museums and the Senate. (Field trips to the Jedi Temple, however, weren't allowed.) It was a good meeting place. Even a general wouldn't be embarrassed to come here. . . Would he?

Once more glance at the chrono. _1 more minute._

And then I'd book it and forget the whole experience. If he didn't come, obviously he didn't want to come. Perhaps it had been some sort of joke or a prank.

I looked one last time at the chrono, praying I was wrong when I saw that it read 1715. I pinched myself. My eyes watered, and the numbers became blurry – but even blurry, I could see that they read 1715.

And immediately I engaged in a mental argument.

_It's only been fifteen minutes._

_He said 1700 at the latest._

_Maybe he got caught in traffic._

_The Senate, the military headquarters, and the Temple all aren't more than five to ten minutes away. It's not traffic._

_Maybe . . . Maybe he forgot._

_Precisely._

I groaned. _Maybe I should stop arguing with myself._ I made one last glance at the door – but no, he wasn't there. With a sigh, I called the waiter droid over, paid, and grabbed my coat. There wasn't any point in staying.

Ben wasn't coming.

_General Owen_, the voice corrected sarcastically.

_Oh, shut up_, I told it irritably as I pulled my coat on and moved out the door.

I could see that this slight was going to make me very cranky in the days to come. But perhaps that was a good thing – I could use it to my advantage when I finally cornered Ash for playing on my weakness to get me into out and playing a prank on me to get me out. It was annoying, and all t he more so because I couldn't understand the strangely hollow sinking feeling in my heart, like a feather brushing down a hole. . .

_Elaine!_

_Shut up_, I told the voice again as I walked briskly across the street and headed towards the transport station. If I was lucky, I could perhaps find a transport that would come soon and be able to take me home; then I could take a shower, go to bed, sleep, and forget this whole affair. . .

_Elaine!_

Strange, but now my mental voice was suddenly sounding like General Owen's. . . _Shut up_, I told it, walking even faster. The sun would set soon, and I wanted to get home.

_Elaine!_

A hand suddenly seized my arm.

I shrieked in surprise, only just then noticing that the voice in my head that had sounded like General Owen's . . . was _not_ in my head. Someone really had been calling me. But before that thought had even registered, I was whirling around to face my assaulter, dead ready to get a good yell in at them.

I was frustrated, annoyed, and hurt. I needed somewhere to dissipate this stuff, and since the only people who would call my name would be one of my friends who had set me up . . .

"How dare you – "

I stopped abruptly when I noticed quite then that there had been a very good reason that the voice had sounded like General Owen's.

Because it was General Owen who had just released my arm.

"Elaine." He smiled slightly. "I'm glad I caught you."

"Um . . ." Heat crept over my cheeks. _Oh, _blast _it._ "General Owen . . . I'm sorry I didn't hear you . . . I don't know what came over me . . . I'm so – "

He raised a hand to cut off my babbling. "If there's anyone to apologize," he said gently, "it would be me, not you. I am sorry I am so late. . . I was . . . held up. Senate business, I am afraid, and I am deeply sorry that it interfered. . ."

_It sounds like a reasonable excuse_, some part of me whispered, _but gods, this is so embarrassing. . ._

So I was very relieved when he asked, "Would you care to come with me? It would still be open, you know. . ."

I stared at him, really wanting to pinch myself but not eager to do it in front of him. Still . . . Did he really, honestly still want to go on the date? Was he really into me . . . or was he just being polite for being so late? As a matter of fact, was this even a date in the first place? Or just a meeting of friends for political reasons – after all, he _did_ think I was someone high up for being invited to the Senatorial Gala. . .

_Well, there's only one way to find out_, I decided.

But by the time I had decided that, he had retracted his arm slightly, uncertainty in his own expression.

"That is, if you want to. I'll understand if you don't. . . You're probably busy."

That bald uncertainty hit me. Hard.

He was a Republic general, for crying out loud, and here he was, uncertain about whether _I_, practically nothing but a citizen, wanted to go with him? If anything, that destroyed any uncertainty I had about this being a real date.

And besides, that touch of uncertainty was charming . . . in the strangest way.

"Less busy than you, perhaps," I retorted, pleased that my voice didn't shake. "So . . . can we go and stop wasting time?"

His smile returned then, and I nearly blushed under its intensity. It was so strange to see that kind of power that my words – that _I_ could have over him, to make him smile with happiness or frown in uncertainty. That had certainly never happened to me before, and he was a _general_.

Which reminded me . . .

"What, no immaculate uniform today?" I asked teasingly, hoping to fill the silence.

His smile turned self-conscious, as if he would have fidgeted or lowered his eyes had we been sitting. His simple civilian attire was a far cry from the well-groomed general's uniform I had last seen him in, after all, just a beige shirt, tan pants, and dark brown cloak – all looking more homegrown than I had thought a general would wear . . . more like . . . oh, what was it . . .

He shrugged slightly. "I don't like being the center of attention, or attending diplomatic functions. This is what I wear normally, after all. . ."

I snickered when the mental image connected.

Ben looked at me, confused. "May I ask what is so funny?" he asked.

"You."

"Me?" he repeated, sounding like he was halfway amused and halfway confused. "Did I say something?"

"No. . . Just . . . Sorry. You look like you could almost pass for a Jedi in that clothing," I said, snickering again. "All you need is a lightsaber and tunics and the combat boots."

Something flashed across his face, an emotion that was so extremely out of place that I thought I had imagined. Was it fear?

"And how did you decide that?"

"No reason. . . But Anakin Skywalker dressed much the same – well, with the lightsaber and the tunics, of course. Just imagine," I said dreamily, "General Ben Owen turned Jedi-dressing-like Ben Owen. The media would love you for it."

"What?"

I laughed again and shook myself. "Sorry. . . One of my friends works in the press, and she loves dreaming up the most random titles that she thinks her audience would drool over. I'm afraid that I've gotten used to it."

Ben appeared strangely interested – just not in a good way – as we reached the café and he politely opened the door and arranged for us to be seated in a little corner near the window, which had good lighting but was pretty quiet compared with where I had sat before and the rest of the café. But it wasn't until we sat down that he spoke again.

"You're friend's involved with the media?" he said, frowning slightly. "Who is she?"

"She is one of the editors for the _Intergalactic_, but sometimes if it's a really big story she writes it herself. . . She's a good friend though," I added quickly, for some reason feeling the need to defend her against his frown.

An apologetic smile appeared on his face. "I'm sorry; I wasn't criticizing your friends," he said. "I'm just not on great relations with anyone in the media, I'm afraid.

"But . . . the _Intergalactic_. . ." he murmured. "What articles has she written?"

I bit my lip as I racked my brain. I had never read her journal; I didn't really read much of that kind of stuff. Tabloids weren't my thing. But . . .

"Mainly articles on General Kenobi, I think," I answered finally. "She likes causing fuss about him; no idea why. Mainly just embarrassing things, like about his supposed affairs with a Naboo handmaiden named Sabé or his fling with a girl named Miluiel. . . Stuff like that. Not really interesting to me, I'm afraid; I'm sorry, I can't tell you more."

The waiter droid interrupted then, but I thought I caught another strange flash of emotion across his face, yet another one I couldn't identify. Was it resignation?

I decided to take the interrogation in my own hands now that he didn't seem to want to probe further.

As he started eating, I asked, "So . . . what do _you_ know about General Kenobi then?"

Ben's expression became slightly strained before his forehead smoothed out and he looked questioningly at me. "What _doesn't_ the public know about him?" he countered.

I lowered my eyes shyly and poked my fork at the mound of noodles in front of me. It was true that his name had been splashed across every single tabloid, journal, holonews, and anything else that talked about the war. But in the medcenter where I had worked all these years, everyone was the supposed to be treated the same – just a patient, meaning that high-profile people were just Patient A or X to us. I could have treated the Supreme Chancellor himself and not known it if I hadn't seen his face before, which, of course, I had.

Besides, my dislike for war and the need to care for my ailing father meant that I didn't pay much attention to the war heroes if they didn't come through the medcenter. Anything I knew about General Kenobi I had heard about; I didn't even know what he looked like.

Well, I knew the uniform, but there were _thousands_ of Jedi wearing that same uniform, so it wasn't much.

"Not much," I admitted bashfully, not daring to look at him. "I know his name, and that he's a Jedi, and that he's called the Negotiator."

I felt it was safe to look up when he exclaimed, "That's it?"

I nodded timidly. "We don't pay attention to that in the medcenter. . . We're not supposed to. Some of my coworkers drool over Skywalker, of course, but I don't really have the time or the inclination to. The way things work over there, I could treat Skywalker and not even know it."

A slow smile crept across his face, and he muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry?"

He cleared his throat. "So . . . you don't even know what General Kenobi looks like?"

"Nope. Except for the Jedi robes."

"That's what everyone wears," he said, waving a dismissive hand as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes remained fixed on me, his lips pursed as though he was studying me. "I have to admit, you're very interesting, Elaine. I've never met anyone who wasn't . . . well . . . Most women are determined to know as much as they can about Skywalker and Kenobi."

"I know they ended the war, and are now responsible for negotiations to make sure it never happens again, and that now there are a lot less wounded in the medcenter. That's all I need to know."

He chuckled. "As I said, a very interesting case."

We ate in silence for a few more minutes – or rather, _I_ ate in silence for a few more minutes. Ben seemed content with taking sips of his drink and alternating between gazing at me and looking out the window. It made me nervous, and as a result I started eating faster. He sure managed to eat a lot more quickly than me.

"Hey, calm down," he said gently, reaching across the table and touching my hand. "There's no need to hurry."

I froze when his fingers touched mine. A flutter passed through my body, with the origination point in my hand, and it made butterflies dance in my stomach. I swallowed nervously and nearly choked; I had to dive for my drink and take a big gulp.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concern in his eyes.

"It's nothing," I said hastily.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I put down my fork. "I'm done. You?"

He rose. "Let's go, then."

We chatted about inconsequential things, with him plying me with questions about my work, my life, my hobbies, and seemingly anything else he could dredge up. He seemed to become more . . . relaxed, I guessed the word was, with each passing minute, allowing his arms to swing at his sides and smiling as we passed verbal barbs and parries.

Then a new thought hit me, and I turned to meet his gaze. "Ben," I said, slightly happy to be using his name and also slightly confused as to why I was happy, "you never answered my question?"

"What question?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Now you're playing with me."

He splayed his hands, all wide-eyed innocence as he matched my gaze. "Why would I do that?" he asked. "Why would I have the nerve to play with a determined, strong-minded, beautiful young lady?"

That threw me off beat, and I scrambled to recover. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Oh, I believe it just got me somewhere," he replied, his eyes laughing as he glanced down at me. "But for what it matters, Elaine, you _are_ very beautiful, you know."

I blushed furiously. "Um . . . thank you?"

He smiled warmly at me before shifting back to the topic at hand, the laughter leaving his eyes and being replaced by concentration. "As to your question about what I know about General Kenobi – I know more than you, I think," he teased.

I glared at him before remembering that he was a general and I was a common citizen and it was very rude and . . . well . . . I blushed yet again.

Ben paused at my blush. "Don't be shy to express your thoughts, Elaine. Your honesty is very . . . refreshing. I don't see much of it in the Senate nowadays." He chuckled softly. "You wouldn't understand; but it is really is invigorating to just be . . . normal, I guess, and have a normal conversation where the only demand is that I play along and don't be annoying."

"Well, you _are_ being annoying right now."

"My apologies, then, m'lady," he said with a short bow and another teasing smile.

I sniffed indignantly and looked away.

"But back to your question. He's not quite as dramatic, I suppose, as Skywalker or as audacious. He prefers negotiation to fighting. His critics have always said he's . . . what's the word . . . too cautious, too careful, too . . . pacifistic."

"Yes, well, doesn't Skywalker _not_ being cautious and careful end up in him charging in and getting hurt?" I muttered.

He heard me, which surprised me, for he answered, "Sometimes, yes."

I shrugged. "I'm sorry. Being surrounded by a bunch of Skywalker fangirls sort of numbs me to his fame, I guess. . . I'm more a pacifist than they are. General Kenobi's path would be the path I would want the Republic to stick to."

Ben gave me a strange look, stopping abruptly.

"What?"

"You."

"Okay . . . What about me?"

He laughed. "Nothing. Just . . . You are, I think, one of the most interesting women I have ever met. You prefer a diplomat _over_ a Jedi."

"Well. . . Isn't Kenobi also a Jedi?"

"Yes, but he is more of the diplomat Jedi. Anakin, I guess, is the epitome of a Jedi Jedi."

"I thought Kenobi was called the epitome of a true Jedi," I countered, recalling the glowing holonews report after he had been declared a Jedi Master and given a seat on the High Council. "'Phenomenal pilot, devastating warrior, peerless negotiator, role model to the new generation of Padawans, and humble to a point'. . . What?" I demanded, noticing that he was giving me the strangest look.

"And you said you knew nothing about General Kenobi," he accused.

"I don't! That came all from tabloids."

"Then you read some very interesting ones, Elaine," he said smoothly. He reached out and opened the door to the speeder – which I only then noticed was parked right next to us. "Would you like a ride home?"

"Oh . . . thanks . . ."

Ben displayed a phenomenal talent for piloting the speeder, even when I was giving him last minute directions – I had never gone home this way before, usually only by transport, so I was never quite sure what I was doing. But eventually, I managed, between his guessing and, later, when I told him what district, his apparent familiarity with the layout of Coruscant's sectors.

When he parked, I looked at him with newfound respect. "You know, if I had a say, I'd say you leave Kenobi behind for flying."

Ben chuckled. "I hate flying, you know."

I stared. "But you're so good at it!"

He shrugged carelessly, folding his arms across his chest as he walked around the speeder and opened the door for me.

"Being good doesn't mean you like it," he commented quietly.

I took his hand when he offered it without thinking. The warm flutter zipped through me again, and I nearly stumbled. Okay, I did stumble, and rather ungraciously too. But he, displaying once again faster reflexes than I, caught me gently and steadied me.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes."

But our faces were extremely close when I answered, and perhaps he sensed the strange butterflies dancing in my stomach, because he abruptly pulled away, a sheepish expression on his face that quickly fell into impassivity and sternness. It was the first time, I decided, that he actually looked like a general.

"I – "

"Elaine – "

We both stopped at the same time we had both started. The sheepishness came back to his expression; the blush came back to mine.

"You first," he said.

"Well . . . um . . . Thanks. For everything," I blurted out, blushing even more fiercely.

Ben seemed to relax, and a smile appeared on his lips. "Thank you as well, Elaine," he said, and I noted with chagrin his thank-you sounded way more formal and sincere at the same time.

"Yeah . . . um . . ." I started edging away. "Good-bye."

He laughed, and suddenly I found my hand held in a tight grip. "Not so fast," he teased, moving closer as his grip loosened. He stared at me, blue-green eyes serious as they met my own, and then I couldn't look away.

"Don't run away, okay?" he murmured.

"Why not?"

"Because . . ." He hesitated, and then shook his head. "Never mind. Just . . . I'll call you again, all right?"

"'Kay."

"And try not to be around your friends when you answer, will you?"

I blushed again, but I didn't – couldn't – lower my eyes. "I am so sorry about – " I tried to say.

He rested a finger on my lips, startling me with the closeness and intimacy of the movement. He didn't seem prone to it, but . . . maybe I had been wrong.

"Hush. It's okay. I was just teasing."

He removed his finger and stepped back, folding his arms into his cloak and offering me a formal bow.

"Good day, Miss Kyna."

But when Ben stood straight again, there was a soft, teasing smile on his lips. "I look forward to meeting you again," he finished.

"Me too," I managed to stammer out.

And as he gracefully leaped into the speeder and drove off, I found myself wearing a faint, soft smile of my own and immediately pinched myself.

But no.

This really _had_ happened.

_Oh gods above. . . Am I falling in love with him?_


	4. Chapter 3

AN: WARNING! I mentioned in the beginning that "Do I Dare" that this story was rated T for angst and suggestive parts. This chapter is a major part of the emotional angst, especially towards the end. Don't flame me on being surprised; only flame me for literature concerns, such as grammar or plot discrepancies. If you don't deal well with major angst, you have been warned. If you choose to skip this chapter to avoid the angst, I will prove a quick summary of the events in the next chapter.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Dare Number 3<em>**

_Do I dare to kiss this guy?_

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes."

"Come on, that isn't possible!"

"It obviously is, Elaine."

I shoved at Ben lightly; he avoided me with ease, still laughing. "Sometimes you are the most infuriating man in the galaxy," I grumbled.

His expression flickered for the tiniest bit, as if for one small moment he had seriously considered that perhaps my words were true, but then he seemed to recover his equilibrium, and the smile reappeared on his face. Only this time, he appeared as though he was remembering who he was and his station, and retreating once more into the serious, formal general mindset he always was when we met.

Of course, that was changing now.

Certainly, Ben was usually his stern general self in the first few minutes, but after a while he would relax and would have no qualms about teasing me and laughing along with me and in general acting that he hadn't a care in the universe.

I liked him better then.

Of course, I had to concede, that was partially me lying to myself.

I didn't just "like" Ben.

Not anymore.

True, we had only been dating – if that was what you could call these encounters that always began in a restaurant and ended with him driving or walking me home – for two weeks, but within those two weeks, I had grown to know him. I didn't know everything about him, but I knew, I supposed, what was most important.

I knew his laughter – the laughter that would make his eyes light up and his face relax and his shoulders slump as he allowed himself to laugh, and relax, and simply be Ben rather than a general.

I knew his personality – charming, noble, self-sacrificing, teasing, and in general just someone one couldn't help being friends.

I knew . . . well . . . _him_.

And I knew that most times I caused his laughter, his relaxation, and his smiles. It was almost a heady feeling, perhaps, to know that in some amounts I wielded so much power over Ben – me, a common girl fresh out of the academy, over Ben, a general in his own right with political power, strategy training, and diplomatic abilities that could run circles around me.

"Elaine . . . Miss Kyna . . . Hey, Miss Daydreamer."

The weight of Ben's hand resting on my shoulders finally made my look up, and I saw, to my chagrin, the concern in his eyes.

"I wasn't – " he began.

"It wasn't you; I'm sorry," I interrupted. "Just . . . well . . . daydreaming."

His lips twitched into a faint smile, and he removed his hand. "So I see, for I have asked you the same question at least thrice now, and you have neglected to give me any kind of response," he said formally, but his eyes twinkled teasingly at me.

I groaned. "Infuriating," I muttered.

"I heard that."

I glared at him. Ben seemed to somehow pick up on even the softest of mutters or whispers, and sometimes it really, _really_ got on my nerves.

Like now.

But I didn't bug him for it. He had very politely refrained from asking about my own situation, family and work wise, and I granted him the same benefit of the doubt. Besides, I was sure that prying into his circumstances would make him pry into mine, and I did _not_ want to admit that I had nothing to do with the Senate and had really crashed the Senatorial Gala and now was dating him on nothing more than a dare.

A dare that was slowly starting to become easier to fulfill, but a dare nonetheless.

But Ben was . . . strange.

He seemed to just . . . _know_ certain things without needing to turn his head or lift his eyes. He seemed also extremely sensitive to my emotions and moods; not the point of mind-reading, but pretty darn close. And he had fast reflexes, faster than anything I had ever known. It was just all plain strange.

I found my foot suddenly caught on something, and the abrupt change in direction – from forward to down – propelled me back to the present.

I barely had time to shriek in surprise and fling my arms out before Ben was suddenly right in front of me, his body halting my rather ungracious descent to the floor and his arms steadying me from the disconcerting experience.

I blushed. _If Ash had been here, she would have claimed I fell on purpose._

Speaking of Ash. . .

I blushed even more when I realized that Ben was talking to me, smiling that teasing smile of his again – but I wasn't paying attention for once.

I was staring at his face – well, really at his lips, because I had just remembered something.

* * *

><p><em>"You have a date with him tonight."<em>

_ I looked up, startled. Ash had a determined look on her face, and that, coupled with the gasp of sudden realization and plotting she had done seconds before she had spoken, made me extremely wary of whatever she was about to say to me._

_ "Yes. . . Why?"_

_ "Kiss him."_

_ "_What?_"_

_ "I said, _kiss him_."_

_ "No! Are you out of your mind? I barely know him – he deserves way better than me – and that's just . . . ugh!"_

_ "Fine. I dare you to kiss him."_

_ "_No!_ I already said I won't! He's _way_ above me."_

_ "I don't care. Go and kiss him. You can sleep with him too, you know. . ."_

_ "So help me, I'm going to kill you."_

_ "Kiss him first, and then my life will be complete."_

* * *

><p><em>I hate you, Ash.<em>

For now I caught myself staring at his face, and actually wondering what it would like to let go, to relax, to surrender, and just kiss Ben senseless as that little voice inside of me told me I wanted to. _You could always blame the dare_, it whispered. _Or tell him it's your thank-you for saving you. . ._

I squashed the voice with . . . difficulty.

Ben, blast him, wasn't that hard for me to imagine myself dating, kissing, maybe even sleeping with. He was handsome, he was a gentleman, and he didn't seem to care that I was way below him. And I could actually, like, have intellectual discussions with him, a far cry from other guys Ash had set me up with.

I could fall in love with him, I knew, if I let myself.

_Pity_, the voice snickered. _You already are._

I told it to shut up and wrenched myself away from Ben's arms. Clearly, staying in his embrace was not good for my mental sanity, even though I was already regretting pulling away.

Ben's voice stopped.

Oh. So he _had_ been talking to me.

Oops.

"Elaine, are you all right?" he asked.

Blast his voice, too.

"Yes." I forced myself to sound calm – well, as calm as I could get. "I'm fine. I just . . . I'm sorry."

Ben frowned, but he seemed to accept my words, albeit reluctantly. He held out his hand. "Come on. We're almost at the end of this. Unless you want to go back?"

I took his hand, growling at the voice to shut up when it snickered again, and followed him. "Of course not," I said, in control again. "I'd hate have to have hiked all this way for absolutely nothing."

He looked at me as though he was offended. "A morning of my company is nothing?"

"No. . . . Ben, that's not . . . Come on . . . That's not what I meant, and you know it!" I snapped, noticing his teasing smile.

Ben laughed, squeezing my hand gently as he ducked under a branch.

My grumbles cut off abruptly when I finally caught a glimpse of our half-an-hour-long-hike's destination.

_Stars above._

Coruscant was a world of metal, industry, and technology. It had been millennia ago that the forests had been cut down, the lakes drained, the hills leveled out. There weren't even that many records of what Coruscant used to look like. There were only one or two natural parks that hadn't been touched. . .

But never had I dreamed I would ever go to one.

The lake – and it was small, my brain told me – was a shimmering sheet of rainbows and waves, stretching from the sand in front of me to the edge of the forest on the other end. The sun shone down upon it, making the sand appear gold and the lake deep blue-green. It was almost like a mirage, a beautiful setting. I had lived all my life on Coruscant, and I had never ever thought that natural settings would be more beautiful, as the environmentalists had said, but now my mind was abruptly changing that view.

Ben turned to me, grinning like a young boy. "I know it's a lot to take in. . . This is one of the last spots left. Je – Um, schools often come here for field trips and such. It's pretty secluded."

"Is that why we had to come in on foot?"

He nodded.

"Ben, I . . . I don't know what to say. How did you ever find this place?" I asked, looking up into his face.

A shadow crossed his eyes, but so briefly I couldn't be sure. "I . . . I came here once . . . with my . . . classmates," he said slowly.

Something struck me as a little off about how he said it. Why would he be so reluctant?

"Jealous," I said enviously. "I wish my school had taken me here. . ."

Ben laughed then, and the shadow was gone. "Well, then, come on, Miss Kyna," he said, making his voice like a teacher's. "Field trip time."

"Race you," I challenged.

He flashed me a disarming smile. "If you want to lose."

In answer, I leaped into motion, pushing myself to the lake faster than I'd gone in my entire life. And when I reached the water's edge, I looked around and was stunned to realize that . . . he was gone.

Then I frowned.

I couldn't see Ben _anywhere_. I even turned all the way around and checked in a circle; nope, he wasn't anywhere.

"Aren't you coming in, Elaine?"

I spun around – and my jaw dropped.

Ben was _in the water_. Already. Quite a ways from shore, too, actually. He was standing there as if he'd stood there for minutes already, arms crossed over his chest, grinning at me with his entire torso and head soaked, as if he'd dived into the water and waited there for me to arrive while patiently holding his breath.

I marched towards the waterline. "How did you do that?" I demanded in dismay. I thought I'd been running rather fast. . .

Ben chuckled, uncrossing his arms and walking towards me. "I'm faster than I look, Elaine. Much, much faster. And I like a challenge sometimes, you know, and when you offered I couldn't resist. . ."

He trailed off as I glared at him.

He sighed. "Would you have wanted a false victory instead?"

"No," I grumbled sullenly.

_Blast, he's irritating when he's always right._ I sighed. _And he seems to be making a habit out of it too. . ._

"Well, then – quit your complaining." He stretched his hand out towards me again, his expression smoothing into a gentle request for companionship instead of the teasing grin of before. "Come on; the water's not too cold."

I noticed abruptly that he wasn't wearing a shirt anymore, and that his muscled chest was now glinting from the reflections of the sun in the water.

_Okay, maybe _not_ so irritating. . ._

I tried to stop thinking about his physique after that.

"I dropped it with the blankets," Ben said, answering my questioning glance. "You can leave it there; nothing will carry it off, Elaine."

With a sigh, I pulled off the swimming pull-over and plunged into the water.

Ben was right; it wasn't that bad, actually. The sun must have been shining for a while, because the water was warm and pleasant at the surface. It was much nicer than the swimming pool the academy had trained us to swim in, at least.

A hand touched my back.

I shrieked – only it came out more like a muffled burst of bubbles.

_Whoops._

I hauled myself upright and devoted my time to coughing out the water. I sensed Ben come up behind me, and he placed a hand on my shoulder. A polite distance, but closer than just casual friends. . . Whoa, why was I thinking that? Slowly, my coughing eased, and I forced myself not to blush and concentrate on breathing.

"I'm sorry," Ben said. "Are you all right?"

I coughed one last time and turned to face him. "Yeah. Now, anyways."

"Hmm." He searched my face, as if he thought I was lying to him, and it was only then that his shoulders seemed to relax. Then he removed his hand and stepped back.

With great difficulty, I squashed the wave of longing for his touch.

"Elaine . . ."

"Hmm?" I muttered absently, slowly edging my hands deeper into the water and thinking on the angles. _Just a little deeper. . ._

"I . . . There's something you don't know yet about me."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I . . ." He ran his hand through his hair, his expression almost self-loathing in the scariest way.

I wasn't really sure which distracted me more – the sight of the muscles rippling along his chest when he moved or that scary, almost unnatural look of self-loathing, as if he felt that he should be the most shunned outcast in the galaxy.

But whichever it was, I told myself to concentrate.

_Just one inch . . . There!_

"Well, that's interesting."

He frowned. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

"I have something you don't know either."

"Which is . . ."

I threw my hands up, flinging them towards him with all the might I could muster. The water rose in a rather impressive wave, soaking him entirely – well, the part of him that wasn't soaked already anyways.

Ben looked shocked.

Well, _beyond_ shocked, really.

I cracked up. "Oh, you should have seen your face!" I snickered. "You looked like someone just told you you were a long-lost Jedi Knight or something!"

If I had looked up at precisely the moment I mentioned _Jedi_, I would have seen the shadow that crossed his face and the inner turmoil that clouded his entire expression, swallowing whatever happiness he had felt today.

As it was, I only saw the last vestiges of it.

I stopped laughing and eyed him uncertainly. "Um . . . I didn't mean to . . . Sorry?" I offered meekly.

Ben smiled suddenly – an almost playful yet predatory smile that had my spine tingling. It was like he was the glorified hunter and I the rarest prey, his newest trophy to be sought out and captured. It was downright creepy.

He took a step in my direction. "Elaine. . ."

I back stepped frantically, warily making way for his advance.

"Nice try."

And then he leapt at me.

I shrieked again – although thankfully no water came out this time – and fled in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, the water didn't seem to want to cooperate with me, or the sand, or in general fate, because moments later arms encircled my waist and effectively halted my flight. I squirmed in his grasp as he pulled me against his chest, but he seemed to easily contain my struggles – stars, he was even _laughing_ as he did so.

Finally, I gave up.

Ben chuckled in my ear. "Giving up already?"

"Let me go."

"I didn't quite hear you. . ."

"Fine! I give up. Now let me go already!"

He laughed again, but he did loosen his grip ever so slightly. Feeling the familiar blush heating my cheeks when I realized that I was still, albeit loosely, pressed against his body, I pulled away from his arms and made to take a few steps back when I realized why the lake had looked so calm and rich in color.

There was a drop-off.

Which I then proceeded to stumble over.

My feet slid out from under me, and this time, I didn't manage to get a scream out and didn't get any air. Water flooded my vision as I flailed around and tried to regain my balance. Then my head got conked by something very hard and flat, and my vision went completely dark.

My last thought: _Well, this was a stupid way to die._

* * *

><p>Something wet and sticky and heavy was clinging to my limbs. Something cool and flowing was supporting me, like the pillow of the coolest, softest material in the universe, even better than the finest cloths woven by the most skilled weavers of Hapes. And fingers were sifting through my hair, and a frantic voice was calling my name . . .<p>

_What kind of afterlife is this?_

My eyes snapped open.

_Whoa. . ._

The entire world was out of focus, strangely blurred with odd spots of lights and colors and so blurry that I felt tears forming in my eyes.

What – was that a voice speaking? To me? But why would an angel yell . . .

" – please! Elaine, please, talk to me!"

_The angel has a nice voice, though_, I thought dazedly. _It sounds so familiar. . . Maybe I'm hallucinating too. . . That would explain why the afterlife is so screwed up. . ._

"Elaine!"

A dark figure, blurred and dim, entered my line of vision.

I yelped in surprise and instinctively flung my hands up in defense. It was a useless defense against an angel or demon or spirit of whatever this thing that was speaking was, but I couldn't stop my instincts.

Warm hands grasped my own, a familiar touch that sent a rush of electricity up my spine. . .

"Elaine." The voice was quieter now, with concern instead of panic, and a relief that surprised me.

I blinked again, for the first time since awakening, and abruptly the world righted.

"Ben?"

I spoke without thinking.

He seemed to relax, but at the same time his concern seemed to return, just in a different form, and he gently drew me closer. He released one hand to touch my cheek, his blue-green eyes full of wild emotions that he seemed only just to be getting under control.

But what surprised me was their _strength_.

Ben did not seem like one to drop everything for a girl. But he just had.

The warm feeling returned, and the quiet voice of a girlish hope started very slowly creeping back in. . . Ben had dropped everything to find me. He had panicked. He was at my side staring at me as though I was the only thing that mattered, the only thing he was focusing on at this moment in time, with everything, simply _everything_, else shoved aside in my favor.

_Maybe . . . _

"Elaine, are you all right?" he asked again.

I nodded mutely.

He closed his eyes and set his hand against my forehead. Then he nodded shortly, and let his hand slide to my shoulder, drawing me ever closer to him.

"I'm sorry. . . I should have warned you about that drop-off," he apologized.

"It was my fault. I'm really clumsy," I mumbled, feeling my face heat up with yet another blush.

The smallest smile crossed Ben's face. "I doubt that very much. . . You handled yourself very well at the Senatorial Gala, as I recall."

"Which is why I spilled drinks over the both of us."

"Ah, yes." Ben laughed. "I forgot about that part. But it was your first dance, Elaine; you needn't condemn yourself to being a wallflower because of that one bad experience. You shouldn't. You dance very well."

"Because you led!"

"Nonsense. Midway through it was more of us being able to dance as equals."

"Not the way I saw it, Ben."

He chuckled, drawing me ever close to him. Without thinking, I placed my hands on his chest to balance myself, since he was pulling me so close to him that I was starting to feel like I was losing my balance . . . physically and mentally. Physically, I would probably fall if he let go of me. Mentally . . . oh, stars above, my mind was already starting to go in that sense. I couldn't help but start hoping maybe, even though there were the greatest odds in the universe against me, that perhaps . . . just perhaps . . . just perhaps Ben felt more than friendship towards me.

Just perhaps.

And if I was very, very, very lucky.

"Well," he murmured, "you, Elaine, have a talent for being short-sighted where you are concerned."

"And you don't?" I challenged, drawing myself up to my full height.

"No. I don't think I've ever seen a person . . . more clearly . . . than I see you . . . Elaine," he whispered, and I wasn't sure if it was an end to his last sentence or a beginning to a new one.

But it was already way too late.

Our bodies were pressed against each other, my hands were on his chest and his arms were around me, our lips were only centimeters apart – not even – and my ears were ringing and electricity was sparking along my spine and my whole body was tingling and my face was flushed with heat or embarrassment or impulsiveness, I knew not –

And I leaned forward and kissed him.

For perhaps the shortest yet happiest moment in my life, I kissed him and he kissed me back.

_If I'm dead, I never want to live again, because this – whatever it is, is way better than life. And I'm sleeping, I never want to wake up._

Screams and clicks suddenly sounded on the beach as lights flashed.

Ben stiffened and wrenched himself away from me, simultaneously spinning me so that I was shielded by his body.

I stared, startled. _Who . . . _

They were dressed in a strange assortment of clothes; they obviously weren't, like, one cohesive unit coming together. And they were armed with the strangest things – holorecorders, datapads, pictures. . . Some of the women there were arguing furiously, while others wrote furiously. A couple were even crying as they scribbled away and snapped pictures.

"What – " I began.

Then the people started speaking all at once, and my world came crashing down.

"I'm a reporter from the _Intergalactic_, so tell me, when did this start? Have you been in a relationship long?"

"How long have you been hiding this? Why her?"

"Who _is_ she?"

"Is she another Jedi?"

"Stars, she's pretty if she is – but General Kenobi, tell me, who is she?"

I froze. _What did she call him?_

But no – my ears worked. I hadn't heard wrong. I couldn't have – but I must have. This wasn't General Obi-Wan Kenobi, the most famous diplomat of the Clone Wars. . . This was Ben Owen, my Ben, the one I thought I was finally falling in love with. . .

"Ben, what is – "

Ben straightened, his eyes narrowing as his lips tightened in obvious anger. He didn't seem to hear me at all. He flicked his hand in the direction of the reporters –

And they froze.

One by one, they ceased to speak and stared mindlessly, innocently, almost complacently, in our direction.

I stared at Ben. _What are you doing? And how?_

"You will forget what you have seen here today. _All_ of you," Ben said, his voice ringing loud and clear across the distance. "And you will destroy all evidence, notes, and pictures of this meeting. You will forget it ever happened."

They chanted right back at him, "We will forget what we have seen here today, all of us. We will destroy all evidence of this meeting. We will forget it ever happened."

"Now be gone, all of you!"

Ben's voice was commanding, sharp, abrasive – something that did not fit into my picture of him at all.

And by the greatest miracle, they all turned and left immediately, obediently ripping up flimsiplasts and wiping the holorecorder memories as they walked.

A chill ran down my spine. This wasn't the action of Ben. . . He wouldn't do this. . . He wouldn't take away the free will of all these people and force them to do as he wished and make them chant mindlessly like robots back at him. . . He wouldn't. . .

"Elaine – "

I wrenched my arm away from his grip. "You did this. What have you done?"

"Did what?"

I gestured almost frantically in the direction the reporters had vanished in. "What have you done? Why did you . . . Why did you _do_ that? You're a Republic general; you're supposed to _uphold_ independence, equality, and freedom, not take it away? What have you done, Ben – Wait. Is that even your real name? _Who are you?_"

"Elaine, please, listen – " He stretched out a pleading hand, but I was in no mood to take it.

"Unless it's an explanation, shelve it. _Who are you?_"

"I . . ." He stopped, looking anguished. Pain was twisting his features beyond recognition, just as anger had twisted them before.

I felt the overwhelming urge to comfort him, tell him it was all right, tell him that I . . . loved him.

_No. He lied to me. I don't even know who he is!_

I brutally repressed the urge, crossed my arms, and glared, waiting for an answer.

"I'm giving you about thirty more seconds," I snapped finally. "If I don't get an answer then, don't you ever contact me again in any way. And certainly don't expect me to – "

"I didn't mean to deceive you."

I stopped. "What?"

"I didn't mean to deceive you, Elaine," he said rapidly, almost as if he was actually afraid I would walk away if he didn't talk right then and there. "But . . . But you do have a right to be angry, and to know.

"I'm not Ben Owen. He doesn't exist. Ben is . . . well . . . sort of my nickname. And Owen is my brother's name. My real name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I . . . I didn't want to deceive you; it was never my original idea. But you . . . you were just . . . You just took me by surprise. At first, I thought you were a threat and was ready to move in; but then I realized you were not harmless, just perhaps a victim of a dare or someone seeking a relaxing night with a bit of a thrill. And you were . . . honest, amazingly so. Even when you realized I was a general. I've never had that honesty, from anyone, really, except my fellow Jedi. But you – you were honest, and just . . . You took me by surprise in every way. I didn't want to deceive you – I was planning to tell you – but I thought . . . I thought it would easier for things to . . . well . . . develop if you thought I was a normal person. I am sorry."

I held up a hand. His words were sliding around me but not registering, and my vision was being reduced to tears.

_This is pointless._

"'Sorry' doesn't half cut it, General Kenobi," I said harshly. "You lied to me from the day we met – for no reason! And you've led me along in this, thinking that . . . Never mind."

I backed away.

"Don't contact me again. I can't . . . I can't forgive this."

He stepped towards me, hand outstretched pleadingly, handsome features twisted in agonizing pain. "Elaine, please, hear me out –"

"I've heard you out. It's too late."

"Elaine – "

"Don't call me that! Only friends do, and you aren't my friend! Just – Just leave me alone!" I shouted.

Then I whirled around, marched away as fast as I could, grabbed my pull-over, and then devoted all of my energy, attention, and emotions to running as far away from Ben – Kenobi – whoever he was – as I possibly could before I completely lost control and either broke down crying or gave in to the pain on his face.

But finally, the pain was too much.

I staggered, the rhythm of my running breaking, and collapsed against a tree.

The image of the expression on his face – so painful, so anguished, so . . . heartbroken – was seared into my brain, and that, combined with the overwhelming vat of confused and hurt emotions that was boiling in my heart, added together to make a tugging pain in my heart, like a dagger of ice had been driven into my heart and now everything was leaking out and the pain was thudding hollowly where my heart – where my love – should have been.

It was so ironic really.

I had wanted him to love me, and I had loved him, so much that I had formed the picture-perfect image of us in my head. I had thought he would be the Prince Charming I had never thought I, the awkward bookworm, would find.

Well, I had found him.

Only Prince Charming wasn't . . . _my_ Prince Charming.

But the worst part?

Even through this, I _still_ loved him. And no man would be able to replace him . . . even if the man who was called Ben Owen was just a mirror-reflection of my desires and had never existed in anywhere but my mind.

So I curled up into the smallest ball and gave myself over to crying.


	5. Chapter 4

AN: All right, the worst part of the angst is over. And here's the promised recap for anyone who decided to skip the last chapter's angst.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Dare Number 3<em>**

__Do I dare to kiss this guy?__

Ben takes Elaine to a lake, one of Coruscant's last preserved natural places. They go swimming, and Elaine stumbles over the drop-off and falls unconscious. When she wakes, Ben and her discuss their first meeting in the Senatorial Gala, and as they embrace, they end up kissing. Reporters then barge in and reveal Ben's true identity – he's Obi-Wan Kenobi. Shocked, confused, and hurt, Elaine tells him never to contact her again and runs away.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Dare Number 4<em>**

__Do I dare to go on another date with another guy?__

I leaned against the railing of the balcony, gazing at the landscape of Coruscant – _all_ of it. I was thankful that I had arrived early; the banquet area was crowded, and despite its elegance I just didn't want to sit in it alone waiting for him.

_He has a name_, that stupid little voice in me said

For Ryan.

Ryan was one of my former classmates from the Academy. He and I had gotten along in school – actually, we had gotten along very well. If I closed my eyes, I could picture way more than one incident where we had been partners or something, and whispers and giggles had been directed at us, and Ryan had simply smiled at me, taken my hand, and told me to pay it no mind because our project would beat all of theirs. And he had always been right, too.

I had paid little attention at the time, for my interest had been in graduating with good grades over finding a husband, but now that I looked back more closely on it . . .

"Elaine?"

I started and turned.

A young man only two or three years my senior stood hesitantly behind me. He was dressed in a fashionable yet modest suit, displaying his tastes along with his position on the social ladder. He was tan and fit, not a single hair of his dark brown haircut out of place, his brown eyes sincere and focused. In every way, he was a contrast to –

_No!_ the voice scolded. _Don't think about him!_

I forced down the rising memories and bile with difficulty. "Hello, Ryan," I said with a tentative smile.

He seemed to relax. "For a second, I thought Ash had played a prank on me," he explained. "It's not every day I get a comm from a former classmate that I remember as being the scheming member of your little posse."

"Scheming? Posse?" I repeated, laughing despite myself. "Why, Ryan, you'd think we were off and disrupting the Academy at every little opportunity!"

"Perhaps not the Academy, but the arithmetic class certainly falls into that distinction." He offered his arm. "Would you care to come in with me? It's rather chilly out here."

I smiled at him, and this time it wasn't tentative or forced. This was one reason I had gotten along so well with Ryan. He had a way of relaxing people without insulting them, teasing without taunting, joking with making people uncomfortable. It was just so natural to relax, banter back, and just be his friend.

I accepted his arm, and for a second shock coursed through me.

It wasn't exactly a mind-numbing revelation. It was more like a . . . well, just me noticing something different for the first time.

Because whenever I had taken Ben – _General Kenobi's_ hand or arm or whenever he had smiled at me, I had felt that warm glow that had made always made me blush and look away and wonder if I could find a way to subtly pinch myself and make sure I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating, whichever it was.

I hadn't been doing either, of course, but it had been a dream nonetheless.

A shattered one now. . .

But the shock wasn't about that.

It was the sudden realization that being with General Kenobi had been the first time I had really ever _dated_ someone in the proper sense of the word – going out for meals and movies and in general having a good time, relaxing, laughing, having fun. And whenever we had been together, whenever we had touched, I had felt that little shock of electricity coursing up my spine and sending the thrill throughout my body.

I didn't feel it with Ryan.

It just felt normal, as if I was shaking hands with my boss or tending to a patient. Normal. Not special, not unique, and definitely no fireworks.

This time, I really did pinch myself discretely.

I couldn't get _him_ back. And therefore, there was no point in longing after him.

Of course things were different with Ryan – I knew he wasn't lying, and he was an old friend, and I wasn't gazing at him with stars in my eyes clouding my vision and common sense.

Of course things were different.

"You look beautiful," he told me after we had ordered our meals.

I smiled at the compliment, but . . . it was different. If . . . If _he_ had told me that, I would have probably blushed and looked down and not been able to say a word. Ryan saying it was . . . . normal, like a best friend or a brother making a comment for the sake of self-esteem.

"And you look all grown-up," I replied. "If someone had told me all those years ago that you'd turn up all gentlemanly and in a suit, I would have told them they were crazy."

"I _am_ crazy," Ryan grumbled, but it was with a teasing smile. He leaned back. "But honestly, I think it's worth it. This . . ."

And he proceeded to tell me almost every detail of his father's emerging business – they did business in manufacturing and transporting bacta, so of course the business was strong as ever with the war not that long over – and I found myself watching just how animated he was about it without becoming animated himself. I mean, sure, I was happy for him, but . . .

In any case, he had to stop the monologue when our food arrived. That seemed to remind him that this was a date and not a business meeting.

"So how are you doing? Ash told me you had had some . . . troubles."

I swallowed reflexively and nearly gagged on a chunk of food. "Troubles" was a grave understatement.

But what could I say?

_Yeah, sure, I have troubles. I crashed the Senatorial Gala on a dare and as a result went on a date with a guy I thought was Ben Owen but was really General Obi-Wan Kenobi and we had dates and we even kissed but he never told me who he was, and now I'm confused because I miss him so much but I can't get over the fact that he lied to me about who he was so who knows about what else he might have lied about, but I think I might actually have fallen in love with him anyways, and in general I'm just so confused. . ._

Yeah, that'd _definitely_ go over well. Especially since Ryan, technically, would view himself as a rival for my affections.

Oh, that was an awkward thought.

"Nothing much," I finally said. "Just going through a bit of a bumpy time at work, with . . . well . . . you know . . . my father and all."

_Liar, liar, pants on fire._

I told the voice to shut up, especially since I wasn't even wearing pants.

Ryan frowned. "Your father?"

"He's been ill. It's nothing big," I said dismissively.

"Ah."

He studied me, and I busied myself with my food. But even that wasn't enough to stop myself from making comparisons between Ryan and _him_.

The half-healed hole in my heart and the sinking feeling that overwhelmed me whenever I thought of him was still there. It had been over two weeks since the press had discovered us at the beach and I had realized he was lying and I had run away – but despite how I kept telling myself that I was right, since he had lied, I couldn't heal that hole in my heart. I just couldn't, and I had no idea why.

We finished the meal in silence.

"Would you like me to take you home?"

I concealed a sigh. Yet another unwelcome comparison. Ben had always taken me home, without asking, always the gentleman patiently overriding my protests. To be fair, I hadn't protested much, because I delighted in his company, but still . . . the comparison was there.

"No, I'll be fine. I have some . . . things to finish anyways," I lied.

"Are you free tomorrow?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," I confessed suddenly, not sure why I spoke what I was thinking but knowing I couldn't stop now. "You're . . . different from how I remember you. A lot different. And we were good friends once, but . . . I've changed. I'm different. I . . . I'm not ready for this."

Ryan stared at me as though unable to comprehend my words. Then he sighed and thrust his hands into his pockets. "You're right," he said resignedly. "But I thought . . . I hoped . . . but it's too late now."

I took his hand. "You're a good friend," I told him. "And we'll always be friends."

"But no more, huh?"

I shook my head silently, unable to speak.

"Perhaps that's a good thing, in its own way. The prospect of perhaps marrying you was a rather daunting one, I must admit."

"Ryan!"

"Well, it was. You're so independent, Elaine. I think I need someone who needs me more than you ever will, perhaps even desperately – or at least needs my money. But you . . . I think you'll be fine." He smiled at me. "It was good to see you again; I do thank you for that. And friends indefinitely sounds good."

"Yeah."

I was almost up the street when he called out, "Elaine!"

I turned. "Ryan?"

His eyes glittered strangely in the dark. "You love him, don't you?" he asked seriously.

I blinked. "What?" I stuttered.

"Yep, you do," he decided. "Do me a favor and introduce us as soon as possible, okay? I want to meet the guy who's managed to snare your heart. Wait, have you even told him? I guess not. Ah well. . . Good night, Elaine!"

With that, he vanished.

I stared after him for a long moment. Then I shook my head and laughed. That was more like the Ryan I knew.

And it was an interesting subject he brought up. Well, half interesting, half awkward.

_You love him, don't you?_

Half of me was in throes of concern over the mere idea, and the other half was merely examining how Ryan could have so easily noticed that the whole evening I had been distracted and thinking more of _him_ than him.

On one side, it was a legitimate concern. Did I love _him_ or not? Sometimes, I thought I did – thought that the spark of electricity was perhaps a signal of something more for General Kenobi. And other times, all I could remember was the way he had lied to me, so smoothly, so easily, without any attempt to rectify the situation . . . and the way he had simply let me go and not come after me, but surely had he loved me back he would have gone after me. . .

On the other side, it was past legitimate and into the worrisome. Was I really pining after him so much even Ryan, who had not seen me for so long, would notice? I mean, how could I pine after someone I had declared a liar, had run away from, had tried to banish from every part of my mind and body and life in general. But still . . . I couldn't help but remember the devastation on his expression, as if I had stripped for him every reason to live, when I had run away. It had cut at me in a strange, haunting way and no matter what I did I just couldn't get it out of me head.

I must have spent at least the next half hour arguing with myself about these two halves until the sound of waves lapping at the sand made me look up.

_What the . . ._

I recognized the scene instantly.

It was totally different, now with the full moon out shining instead of the sun, and night's cover changing the entire landscape, but I still knew it at once. The gold sand on the beach, the deep blue-green waves rolling in the lake, the silent and majestic backdrop of tall trees – that image was practically seared into my brain.

This was the place.

This was where the press had found us. Where I had finally learned his true identity. Where I had . . . run away from him.

I sighed and plunked down on a rock. Now that I was on that subject, I had to think . . .

_Why did I run away in the first place?_

I ran over the situation in my mind again. It had started out so well – the chase, the tag game, the . . . the kiss. And then, in a single moment when I had heard his true name, everything had gone so wrong, and now . . . now I was sitting here at a beach, at night, thinking about what had happened and wondering about what might have happened.

I stared at the waves, waiting for the answer to come to me.

In and out. . . In and out. . . In and out. . . Regardless of weather, of situation, of . . . well, anything, the waves came in and out. They weren't affected by anything, unless it was manmade, and even then they were pretty tenacious. They simply weren't afraid of anything.

Afraid.

That was my answer.

I had been afraid of what General Kenobi might tell me. Or maybe, simply afraid of myself, of having fallen so hard for a man I really barely knew, and of what it might lead to. I had been afraid. That was why I had run.

_Coward._

Yep, that was me.

But Ryan's question still had to be considered.

_You love him, don't you?_

I looked out at the scene, at the waves, the sand, the forest. There was only one thing missing from this scene, and it was General Kenobi – Ben, standing there, alone, a devastated expression on his face, an arm falling back to his side after I had screamed at him to never contact me again and that I never wanted to see him again.

I winced at the memory. The words were . . . true, in a way, but still . . . He hadn't deserved them.

_You love him, don't you?_

I didn't need to look at the waves to answer that question.

_Yes. Yes, I did. Yes, I _do_._

I loved him. Through his lies, through his being a Jedi, through his representing everything I could not be with, I loved him anyways.

My date with Ryan had just proved it. Through the entire night, I had not been able to think of anything but Ben, about anything but comparing Ryan to Ben, about anything but wishing my date had been with Ben. My thoughts had been undeniably pining after him anyways, even though it had been two whole weeks.

I lifted my head to look at the stars and sighed.

_Blast Ash._

She had been the one to set me up with Ryan, and I guessed that although she could have no idea of what the consequences would be, she had led me to the very conclusion she had always dreamed of.

Then again, it was she who had always had faith, even when I had told her that Ben had really been Obi-Wan Kenobi.

I groaned. _Well, this is totally embarrassing._ I had run away from Ben, called him a liar, told him never to contact me in any way, shape, or form, and yet . . . and yet I was still irrevocably and helplessly in love with him. And I could never tell him that.

With a sigh, I stood and snatched up a rock. A single flick of my wrist had the rock spinning over the waves.

I turned to leave.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw that it had actually skipped. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven . . . eight times! It had actually skipped! And eight times, no less!

I sobered seconds afterwards.

Ben had been the one to teach me how to skip rocks. I had never managed to skip them, even under his guidance, but now. . . I could even still hear his voice coaching me, his hands guiding my own, his smiles at me whenever I did something right, his teasing whenever I did anything wrong, just his voice. . .

I kicked myself. Gods, I was pathetic. And in love.

What a bad combination.

Hugging my arms around myself, I devoted myself to finding my way out. The forest was dark and I could barely remember what paths we had taken, but somehow I managed to find my way out. It didn't take much longer before I was back at my apartment.

I spent the next hour pacing, trying to figure out how I'd deal with this new revelation.

_How can I tell him?_

_Does he love me back?_

_Should I even tell him in the first place?_

Questions swirled around my mind like a bunch of buzzing bees, and I kept at pacing until I realized I was about to wear a hole in the carpet and that I had to go to work the next day, bright and early, so I'd best get some sleep. I could always deal with this another time.

No.

I _had_ to deal with this another time. I couldn't fight it, I couldn't hide from it, I couldn't fear it any longer. I couldn't.

If tonight was any indication, I'd keep dreaming and pining after Ben until I died if I didn't do anything. Dating anyone else wasn't going to do me any good. I had to sort it out and face either his rejection or his . . . I didn't quite know what I was hoping for.

And yet . . . And yet, how on earth could I find the courage to ever tell him?

_Blast all of these dares for getting me into this._

* * *

><p>So . . . who thinks Elaine is in love? Or has any idea what she's doing? Well, moving on – Kudos to anyone who caught my reference to <span>The Sound of Music<span>! Uh . . . did anyone catch it?


	6. Chapter 5

**_Dare Number 5_**

_Do I dare to take this case?_

I rested against the counter and let out a long sigh.

It was the first breather of rest I had had in the past three hours, and I knew it, at most, it would last perhaps five minutes, or ten if I was extremely lucky. But I doubted it. All of the healers were needed for this job, and we were all running around trying to cover all the gaps; even a Jedi Healer from the Temple itself was rumored to arrive within the hour to deal with one of the sensitive case patients. Everyone had been called in early this morning, even volunteers like my friends.

There had been a big battle at Kamino, rumor had it; some of the old Separatists had tried to take it, and the Jedi and clone stations there had been taken completely off-guard. Losses were big, very big, but Kamino had been kept and the rebel Separatists driven back.

I knew that when this day was over, whenever it was over, I would go home and pass out in bed, but for now, patients needed me.

So I straightened, opened my eyes, and grabbed for the nearest stack of bacta.

It had only been a few days since my revelation, but according to the Temple switchboard, General Kenobi had been off-planet, so I hadn't had the time or the inclination to figure out a solution to my . . . problem.

But that was all pushed out of my head by this new development.

I was tending to one of the clones when Ash rushed in. He wasn't that badly injured; just a few scratches and burns. He'd be fine within a few days, and a week at most. I was just reminding him to stay hydrated, exercise, and change the dressings regularly when she grabbed my arm and hissed that there was something she just _had_ to tell me, right _now_.

I smiled at the soldier. "Excuse me, sir."

In the hallway, after I had carefully closed the door and checked that the hallway was empty, I whirled on her. "What are you _doing_?" I demanded immediately.

Ash's look of innocence was perfect . . . and totally unconvincing.

"Nothing," she said.

"Liar."

"Obviously."

I sighed and crossed my arms. "Okay, what is it this time?" I asked wearily. I couldn't always pry the truth out of her, especially when I was as short on time as I was, so sometimes I just settled for playing along and backing out when the danger got too great as quickly as possible.

She handed me a datapad.

I glanced at it, confused. "It's just a patient record. What does this have to do with me?"

The grin reappeared. "Look at the case number."

I glanced back down and scrolled up to the top. Words jumped out at me as I did – _badly burned_, and _comatose_, and _unresponsive_. With each word, I winced a little more. Whoever this patient was – and it was a special case, as there was the distinctive black highlight over the patient's true name and the record of what had caused the injuries – he or she had certainly taken one heck a beating during the battle.

Then I realized what had caught Ash's eye.

The case number was 42.

I sighed and looked from the case to her. "Really, Ash?"

"Do it."

"I'd love to know how you swiped . . . No, never mind. I don't want to know how you got this away from whatever nurse is supposed to deal with it."

"I volunteer at the assignment center," she reminded me. "It's your case now."

I groaned as she dashed off. "Oh, just brilliant. Remind me to tell you that I hate you!" I called at her retreating back.

42 was Ash's favorite number.

It was _not_ mine.

But she loved having chances to shove the number in my face whenever possible. . . Like _now_, apparently. Oh well. I had to indulge her sometimes. At least it got her off my back. . . And it couldn't be too bad.

I scrolled through the case as I walked up the stairs. Patient 42 was in an even worse condition than I had originally thought. He or she was burned not only by lasers, but also by ultraviolet rays, for some of the markers noted in the case were definitely issuing from some type of sunburn, and I didn't think it was simply level one sunburn either. There was massive blood loss from some deep slashes in the chest and legs, and therefore he or she was in a coma – although whether from the blood loss or sedatives, I didn't know – and had been comatose for a while. That worried me. But there was more, a whole lot more, and I began to realize just _why_, perhaps, we had asked for a Jedi Healer to come.

Because this was _way_ over my head. Way over my head.

I made a mental promise to hit Ash very hard the next time I saw her.

Then I reached the sensitive case ward. It was on the highest level of the medcenter, the one with the most security against anyone – but especially the press. I passed through at least three doors that required my passcard.

"Elaine, what are you doing up here?"

I looked up from the case datapad, my steps faltering. But then I realized that it was just Helen, one of the older nurses who had sort of taken me under her wing when I had first started working.

I held up the datapad. "Patient 42 – whoever he or she is."

"_He_, dear," Helen answered. She gave me a concerned look. "Who gave you the case? It's a bit . . . well, it's _very_ complicated, from what I saw when they brought him in."

"More than the injuries?"

She nodded. "He's a Jedi, dear," she revealed. "They had to sedate him before anything else, otherwise he would have fought to have everyone else treated before him. Always a problem with the Jedi."

"Why isn't he at the Temple, then?"

She shook her head. "Too much of a risk, especially with the press everywhere, those carnivores. So – "

" – we brought a Jedi Healer?"

"She's not here yet. Or if she is, she'll be tending to Patient 43."

I frowned. The cases determined the level of priority; the lower the number, the more care the patient required immediately because the risk of death was too great. So why would a Jedi Healer, who'd be far better than me, get the less-at-risk case?

"Who's that?"

"The other Jedi."

I blinked. "_Two_ Jedi? I get one – but _two_?"

Helen patted my shoulder. "Don't worry about it, dear. You'd best just get to work. Patient 42 will need all of your attention for at least one to two hours before he's out of the danger zone."

I nodded, and was halfway done the corridor when she called my name again.

"Yes, Helen?"

"As a matter of personal interest, who gave you that case?"

"Ash," I said, wrinkling my nose.

Something flashed across her face, and a slow smile immediately followed. She let out a short laugh and waved me on.

"What? _What?_" I demanded.

"Oh, go on, dear," she said, chuckling. "You'll find out soon enough. Just – um – remember the clause you signed when you became a staff member, Elaine."

"No spilling of identities, I know. But what does _that_ have to do with anything?"

"You'll see," she said mysteriously.

Needless to say, I wasn't very happy when I finally reached the room. Then again, the clause _was_ kind of important. Because we often worked to tend to members of the Galactic Senate and the Jedi Order, we all had to sign the secrecy clause, in accordance with the laws of the Republic. We could not reveal anything about anyone important we saw or treated – nothing about their injuries or what they said or did or anything. Nothing.

And until today, I had never had any reason to even consider breaking it, because I'd never been in the case sensitive ward.

But today, I opened the door, walked in, and . . . stopped dead.

Part of it was because the case overview had been right – there wasn't a single part of the body that _wasn't_ injured, basically. If there wasn't a bruise, there was a cut, or a burn, or some kind of wound that was exceedingly dangerous if untreated.

The other part?

It was _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ lying in that bed, pale as I'd ever seen him, and wounded within perhaps an inch of his life.

Half of me wanted to run to his side, beg him to wake up right now because I would panic if he didn't, and kiss him senseless whenever he did. Oh, and beg for his forgiveness too, for running away and causing all sorts of problems. And ensure that his wounds were treated to the best of my abilities. And, maybe, if I felt brave enough, to confess that I loved him anyways.

The other half of me just wanted to curl up and die. Or march downstairs and throw something at Ash.

I didn't get the chance to do either.

The door burst open again, and a young man, wild-eyed, half-dressed, and almost just as wounded rushed in. About four steps behind him was a tall female Mon Calamari dressed in the usual Jedi robes and one of our nurses, both looking harassed and weary.

The man stopped at Obi-Wan's bedside, and I could swear that he outright whimpered when he said, in the most broken tone ever, "Master."

The Mon Calamari cleared her throat. "It wasn't your fault, Anakin. Master Kenobi will be fine."

I stared. _This_ unkempt, injured, hyper young man was _Anakin Skywalker_, the cool, suave, and hot enough to drool about Jedi my friends were always giggling over whenever there was even the slightest connection to him?

But yes, it was. I could see the connection. His dark blonde hair was mussed, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild, but they were there.

Skywalker whirled to me. "Take care of him," he begged. "Please. I don't care what you do to me, just make him better, I'm begging you! Do whatever you have to!"

I barely managed to say, "I will."

I had never thought of Jedi as the emotion-showing type of people, but Skywalker was showing real emotions. Obi-Wan had, at most, laughed or smiled; Skywalker was practically on his knees begging and pleading. So much for the Hero With No Fear, because I guessed I had just found something he feared about more than anything else.

"Enough, Anakin," the Mon Calamari said sharply.

She raised her hand, and Skywalker's eyes rolled back in his head. He slumped to the floor instantly.

The Jedi sighed. "Sorry about that," she said to me. "He's a little . . . enthusiastic sometimes."

"Why?"

"Well, Master Kenobi was his Master when Anakin was a Padawan apprentice. He was like his father, I suppose, or as close to a father figure as you can get in the Order. He's been with the boy since he was nine years old, and they are very close – as you can no doubt see. I should have sedated him more, though," she muttered, and I got the feeling I wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Oh."

"My name is Bant, by the way," she told me. "I'll be in the next room dealing with Anakin, but if you need me just give a shout, all right?"

"Sure," I stammered.

She gave me a smile before she and the nurse grabbed Skywalker and, together, heaved him from the room. The door slid shut with a definitive hiss behind them, and I was alone.

Alone with the comatose, injured, and damnably handsome man that I thought I was in love with.

Sometimes, I really hated my life.

I set the datapad down on the nightstand and walked to his side. Eyes closed and body battered, Obi-Wan looked a lot younger – more my age, more vulnerable, more human, almost – instead of the fearsome, invincible, terrifying Jedi general he had seemed when he had pushed away the reporters at the beach.

I sighed as I scanned the length of his body. My initial assessment had been right; there was almost no part on his body that wasn't injured in some way.

_Oh my love, what have they done to you?_

I pinched myself. Where had _that_ come from? I didn't . . .

Yes I did.

_Oh crap._

I sighed, and almost without thinking, I let my fingers touch his face, brushing away the bangs of wayward copper hair, smoothing the lines in his forehead, tracing the lips that had kissed me and that I still wanted to kiss.

"You are a pain in the butt, you know that?"

No answer.

But then again, I hadn't expected any.

_The first sign of insanity is when you start talking to yourself._

"Oh shut up," I told it.

Gently, I peeled back the almost transparent white sheet that was draped haphazardly over his body – and stared in dismay at the ugly deep red burn, complete with blisters, that covered most of his shoulders.

_Oh stars above. . ._

And the worst part?

Obi-Wan was a Jedi. I couldn't think of any reason he'd be bare-chested out in the sunlight except when he had been with me, at the beach, splashing in the water, because the Jedi robes and even his fancy general uniform covered practically his entire body except for his face. But at the beach, we hadn't brought any type of sunscreen. And we'd been out for at least half an hour, if not more, in the direct sunlight. I'd gotten lucky, simply because my bathing suit covered more of my skin than his did.

But it looked like _he'd_ gotten the worst type of sunburn out there, and all over his shoulders too.

Which would explain all the _other_ wounds.

Because if there was one thing I knew about Obi-Wan as a Jedi, it was that he was considered a master of defensive combat. He wouldn't have realized how bad the burn was until it was too late, or how much it would constrict his mobility.

Yet _another_ injury I been the cause of. And it wasn't small either.

And it was all my fault.

Still . . . I couldn't waste time blaming myself. I had to get to work. If anything, this just made me work harder. I caused all of this, so he _definitely_ deserved my apology. But, of course, he had to live long enough to hear it, and I didn't think taking him off the sedatives and waking him up now was the best recourse at this particular moment.

My instinct took over as I gently pulled away the clumsy bandages and set to work taking out the intruding particles of rock, metal, and everything else, washing the wounds in warm water, wiping his skin with wet cloths, and applying bacta liberally. It was mindless work; I had done it over and over in med school and here in the medcenter, and I hardly needed to think to do anything, except to brace myself for each time I pushed the blanket down and saw more grievous wounds on his body that needed to be treated.

I winced each time, and had my hands been free, I would've pinched myself too.

But most times, I cursed my weak mind. Even unconscious and wounded, he _still_ looked extremely handsome.

I worked throughout most of the afternoon without stopping. Each time I wished for a break, I would glance back at him and notice something else just as life-threatening that had to be treated. I had never felt more devoted to my work and calling as a nurse until now, and the fact that it was Obi-Wan who had changed my mind half irritated and half relieved me.

Irritation, because now I was doubly indebted to him – without him having even lifted a finger or said a word!

Relief, because otherwise I'd be sitting in the waiting room . . . no, I'd be at home, and totally unaware that the man I was in love with was about two inches from death. At least I could actively participate in assuring his recovery.

Finally, I bandaged one last wound on his foot and looked at the clock.

_Whoa._

Three and a half hours had passed, and I hadn't even desired a drink or snack _once_.

I looked at Obi-Wan's face and sighed. "Yep, a real pain in the butt," I concluded tiredly. Despite that, though, I couldn't help but touch his hand again, relishing in the brief moment of contact with his skin and the spark of electricity that resulted as always – muted, but still present, and ever solidifying my belief that if I couldn't have Obi-Wan, he'd have ruined my possibilities of ever dating another man.

Now I was faced with a rather large and unpleasant task.

Obi-Wan needed two things, now that his wounds had been cleaned out. He needed a long bath – two, actually – one in steaming water to ensure no bacteria or infections would set in, and then a dunk in bacta to speed up the healing process and deter scarring.

Only, there was no way I was the one getting him ready for that. I had seen Obi-Wan in swimming shorts, and now I had seen him in the white patient's garb shorts, and that was as far as I was going.

The door hissed open then, and Bant entered.

"How's it going?" she asked.

"I think he's pretty much done."

Bant gazed at me with large eyes. "You've spent a lot of time and energy on him," she observed. "And it's a fine job."

"How do you know? You haven't even looked at him."

"I don't need to. I can sense it, in the Force."

But still she went to his side, and placed a hand on his forehead, and closed her eyes.

A moment passed in silence.

Then another.

Then another.

Finally, when I was feeling that overwhelming urge to make some noise just to clear the silence – like screaming in frustration, perhaps – Bant spoke.

"You are Elaine, aren't you? Elaine Kyna?"

"Um . . . Yes?"

"Hmm." She opened her eyes, but still didn't look at me or say anything else.

There was a beat of silence, with she staring down at Obi-Wan with a sad expression on her face while I stared at her wondering how'd she known my name. Obi-Wan had told me Jedi couldn't read thoughts, but I wasn't wearing a name tag or anything, so . . .

"No, I can't read your thoughts, Miss Kyna."

I jumped. "How'd you do that?" I demanded. Obi-Wan had done it so many times that I really shouldn't have jumped – but this wasn't Obi-Wan, this was Bant, a Jedi I had met perhaps for two minutes. He had claimed it was because he knew me so well, but now, of course, I had guessed that his Jedi abilities had played a part in it. But now I wanted to know just _which_ abilities.

"Your emotions," Bant replied. "We can't read thoughts, but we can sense the general aura of emotions around someone. Like right now – you're confused, you're surprised, and so I guessed you wanted an answer."

"That doesn't explain how you know my name."

"No, it doesn't, does it?" Bant lifted her hand and turned to face me. "You love Obi-Wan, don't you?"

I took a step back as my brain froze. _First Ryan, now her. . ._ "What – How – "

"I can sense it. It's very difficult to lie with one's emotions, especially when I can also sense it around Obi-Wan. You touch him with a lover's touch, Miss Kyna; it's very hard to miss when one has had Jedi training, like me. So, back to my original question – Do you love Obi-Wan, or do you not love him?"

"Is it the habit of Jedi," I said slowly, trying to require my mental sanity, "to interrogate people?"

Bant's eyes flashed, and for a second she seemed cold and terrifying, just like Obi-Wan had at the beach when he'd pushed the reporters away.

"Do not play innocent, girl," she snapped coldly. "I am one of Obi-Wan's oldest friends, and I daresay I know him much better than you do or perhaps ever will. You're right – Jedi shouldn't really interrogate people. But _friends_ should, and I am Obi-Wan's. You weren't the one to see him after your . . . rejection at the beach. Do you have any idea what you did to him? What you mean to him? No, of course you don't. You thought he was an unfeeling, conniving – "

"I didn't call him that!" I protested, surprised at my courage in speaking out. "I ran away because I was scared!"

_Oh, wow. I did not mean to say _that_ out loud._

Bant's little monologue halted momentarily. "Scared?" she repeated. "Of what?"

"Well . . . he never told me who he was, you know. I didn't find out until the press found us at the beach. And then I realized he'd lied to me about who he was, so I was scared about what else he might of lied to me about, and I just . . ."

I trailed off when I realized she wasn't listening.

"You didn't know that he was Obi-Wan Kenobi?" she asked after a long moment.

I shook my head. "He told me he was a common general. He called himself Benjamin Owen."

Bant studied me through luminous Mon Calamari eyes. "Hmm. . . And you're telling the truth," she murmured. "I wonder why he lied . . . He'd have no reason to. . ."

She straightened. "But in any case, Miss Kyna, did you ever realize just how much you hurt him by running away and not giving him a chance to explain? I've never seen him so withdrawn and upset, not even Siri or Qui-Gon died."

"Siri? Qui-Gon?"

The names meant nothing to me. I didn't understand how they were helping her case.

"Siri Tachi and Qui-Gon Jinn." Bant waved a dismissive hand. "Siri was Obi-Wan's first serious love interest, you might say, and Qui-Gon Jinn was his Master – like his father figure. He lost them both to the war."

A memory stirred.

"Hold up. You mean that Jedi that died on Naboo?"

Bant nodded.

"Okay . . . But . . . Why are you bringing them up? What do they have to do with me?" I asked. "I'm not Obi-Wan's mother figure, or his . . . girlfriend."

I wasn't about to say "love interest". I mean, I was sure I didn't care about rivals, especially dead rivals, but "love interest" made me sound like the kind of issue a real Jedi would push aside and ignore in favor of duty – which sounded all too much like something Obi-Wan himself would do, given the chance.

"Do you want to be?"

"I'm not being his mother!"

Bant sighed impatiently. "No, silly girl. His girlfriend."

"Um . . ."

"Well, you'd better find a real answer soon," she said in a tone that told me she meant business. "You mean a lot to him, Miss Kyna, more than anyone or anything else."

"He doesn't love me," I protested, feeling the usual ache of the hole in my heart as I spoke. It was the truth, but it still hurt.

"He doesn't? Then you explain why he's spent the last two to three weeks wandering around like a ghost and looking like he's completely lost the will to live, hmm? Explain _that_. And why he was so distracted in battle that he ended up _this close_ to death, shall you?"

"I – I don't understand."

"No, you wouldn't. But you'd better understand soon."

Bant fixed me with a cold glare.

"The Jedi are a bit more lax on the rules of attachment now that the war's over. But let me tell you right now – if you love him, you'd better learn to accept that Obi-Wan is a Jedi, and that he will always put duty first. And you'd better treat him right. Or else even Obi-Wan's love for you won't protect you from what the Jedi can do."

She put a hand on the lightsaber I then noticed at her side.

"Am I clear?"

I gulped. "Yes, ma'am."

Bant strode from the room, leaving me almost in a state of complete and utter terror, but then quite suddenly, she paused at the door.

"Oh, and Miss Kyna. . ."

I was almost afraid to say, "Yes?"

"He loves you too, you know. Just in case you didn't know. He loves you more than you love him – or know you love him, anyways."

And then she left me gaping in surprise, alternating between staring at the door where she'd gone . . . and the prone body of the Jedi Master who still managed to surprise me at every corner and, with every glance at him, somehow managed to steal my heart and hold it under lock and key a little bit more.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi, I can't tell if you're a blessing in disguise or a pain in my butt._

_And Ash? You are so dead._


	7. Chapter 6

**_Dare Number 6_**

_Do I dare to go into the old storage closet?_

I put my hands on my hips and sighed. Now I was extremely glad that we wore a nurse's uniform that was cleaned at the end of every day, and I was slightly sorry for whatever poor droid would have to rewash mine at least a bazillion times to get all the dust and dirt and who knew what else was going to be in it.

My hair was going to be awful after this.

In one quick movement, I reached back and started braiding my hair to keep it out of the way, all the while cursing Ash fluently under my breath.

After I had recovered feeling in my body and especially in my mouth, I had somehow managed to tear myself away from Obi-Wan – although not before placing as chaste a kiss as I could give on his forehead and holding his hand briefly, savoring the touch of his warm skin – and had managed to hunt down Ash and give her a thorough piece of my mind. However, I had only gotten about ten minutes in – only warmed up, really – before she, not in the least perturbed, had held up the passcard to the old storage closet and said that it needed cleaning and I had better get it done before my supervisor came down.

Now, while the supervisor herself was a threat, the worse threat was probably the old storage closet itself.

It wasn't even a closet, per se.

It was pretty much a giant room, filled with all the dusty old records, equipment, and gods knew what else. It was in the basement too, and in the darkest, oldest part of it. And dustiest; I had already sneezed a bajillion times just getting here.

_It's gonna be a miracle if I get one-tenth of this thing organized._

And that would be one-tenth of it.

But I had no choice. I had gotten myself into it, agreed to it, and come down here, so I might as well do it.

Grimly, I threw my completed braid over my shoulder, pulled on the gloves, and started working, one horrible old dusty stack at a time.

As I worked, my thoughts kept returning to my conversation with Bant. She had been so cold, and at the same time, so understanding. She had probably seen more of me than I had. She had cut right to the confusion, the hurt, and the heart of the matter. And she had completely, totally, utterly confused the heck out of me.

Her question still bothered me: _You love Obi-Wan, don't you?_

Bant had been the second person to ask me that, and now I was really questioning why it was so obvious, emotion-sensing Jedi or no.

She said I had cared for him with a lover's touch. Now I really wanted to know two things: 1) how she knew, as she hadn't been there when I had been caring for him; and 2) how she knew what a lover's touch even was, because I certainly didn't know.

_And_ she was a Jedi, so I doubted that she herself had ever known a lover's touch.

As a result of all this thinking, I really wasn't paying attention to anything I was doing, and I cleaned a little longer than I meant to. The result was that by the time my shift was over, I was completely covered in dust and despite the fact that I had dug out old nurse uniforms, I still would need a long soak. So on my way back to pick up my things from the nurses' lockers, I decided to pop into the baths and at least wash off some of the dirt before I went home.

"Hey, Elaine!"

I looked up to see one of the technicians calling me. He was wheeling out one of the droids, which was smoking and clearly had some issues.

"What is it?"

"Well, everyone else has gone home for the night, but . . . one of the patient still needs the bath," he said, clearly not at ease. "So . . . um . . . until I patch this contraption up, can you . . . I mean . . ."

I suppressed a sigh. But I couldn't ignore this. "Yeah, sure."

The technician flashed me a grin. "Thanks."

I managed to strip, shower, and change into fresh clothes in record time – 30 minutes, a new record for me. Then again, a waiting and unattended patient was ample motivation. Still, I was happy. And I was just congratulating myself on that when I strolled into the patient section of the baths with all the supplies tucked under my arms and found out who the patient was.

My jaw dropped, my eyes went wide, and I nearly dropped everything.

_Augh, the gods hate me._

Obi-Wan – pale, injured, and still damnably drop-dead handsome – floated silently in the warm water, his only piece of clothing the white patient shorts.

As I recovered and marched to his side, I reflected on the fact that Ash was really very lucky that she wasn't here or I might have finally given into the temptation to wrap my fingers around her neck and wipe the smug smile I could easily picture right off her face the hard way.

Blast Obi-Wan.

And blast my weak female mind.

I had seen Obi-Wan without his tunic before. And I had seen more of him when I had treated all of the injuries he had sustained. And he wasn't exactly at his best, lying here comatose with faint pink scars and blue-black bruises scattered over his body and his expression bland and his condition weak.

And yet . . . And yet I still couldn't help thinking that if there was another thing that could scar me for life and prevent me from having another boyfriend, it'd be that no one else could match Obi-Wan in this.

Carefully, I worked to soap and wash his hair, the silky copper strands glittering under the harsh lights, and then his arms, chest, and legs. It took all my concentration to keep my hands from shaking – or from lingering too long, wincing in sympathy, over the many scars that crisscrossed his chest, some a vivid, new, angry raised red, others the pale, faded, pink scars of years past. It made me wonder just how many times he had been injured, and how many lives he had saved while risking his own without flinching.

It was something I found I could very easily picture him doing.

And that was when I realized that I no longer hated Obi-Wan. Or was angry at him. Or regretted our time together. His name had been fake, perhaps. But not his personality.

It didn't solve all my problems, but perhaps it was a start.

Perhaps.

Then I realized that I had been staring at his face for the past ten minutes while I had had this realization. Immediately, I felt my cheeks began to heat up as I blushed just thinking about what Ash would say – or even what _he_ would say if I had been caught doing that. Ash would be worse, of course, but Obi-Wan usually managed to put his finger right on the spot that conveyed the same message with the lesser amount of words.

The only differences were that secretly I liked when Obi-Wan spoke to me, and that I wasn't at liberty to run screaming for his head like I could Ash's.

I glanced at him again. Even in a coma, injured and exhausted, Obi-Wan managed to inspire in me a sense of nobility and vulnerability, such that I couldn't help but find myself responding with compassion and affection.

Or, if I was brutally honest with myself, I couldn't help but find myself ever deeper mired in my love for him.

I pinched myself at that thought.

I couldn't fall in love. I _shouldn't_ fall in love. I had rejected Obi-Wan for a reason, and a sound one at that. Going back would do nothing, and why by the stars above should he lower himself to take back someone who had scorned him with scathing words and punishing blows not a few weeks before?

Absolutely no reason at all.

So I stood up and turned away, trying to banish the sinking feeling in my stomach.

I was putting away the supplies and washing my hands when I heard the smallest sound – a soft groan, the fluttering of water rippling in the bath.

I whirled just in time for my eyes to meet Obi-Wan's just fluttered open ones.

In half a second, he made me feel stupid all over again.

His blue-green eyes practically doubled in size as he shot to his feet, seized a bath robe, put it on, and stepped out of the tub.

I whirled around, blushing furiously, and found myself once again asking how I couldn't have realized earlier that Obi-Wan was a Jedi, as these kinds of reflexes were quite obviously things only a Jedi could pull off without falling flat on their face.

"Elaine?"

Obi-Wan's voice. . . Hearing it was like I'd died and gone to heaven. Already, I could feel my blush getting stronger and my knees starting to tremble.

_Blast him. And his voice._

I tried to speak and found that my throat was dry. I had to swallow twice before I could finally trust myself to speak. "Yes, it's me, Master Kenobi," was all I could think of to say.

"Miss Kyna. . ."

His voice was hushed, but there was now the strangest emotion in them – something I hadn't heard before – next to the strict, business-like, controlled tone that had entered as soon as I had called him by his title and not by his name.

I didn't answer.

I didn't think I would be able to.

Unless I _wanted_ to lose it and start bawling and begging. Then he'd think I was even more cracked in the head than I already was. . .

"Miss Kyna."

His voice was closer now. I hadn't heard him move, though. _Blast his Jedi training._

"Miss . . . Elaine. Do you really . . . hate me . . . that much?"

It took a full few seconds before the words finally cut through my teeth-clenching, eye-squeezing, fist-closed state.

Startled, I went against my instinct and spun around.

Obi-Wan was standing only a few feet from me, but he might as well been on the other side of the galaxy from the way the tension broiled between us. His expression was strained, and I had no doubt that mine was as well. The only difference between us lay in his blue-green eyes, which were now filled with a pain that cut at me like cold cuts at bare skin.

"What?" was all my numbed brain could form.

His eyes flickered, as if I had thrown something at him. The tension seemed to be solidifying between us with every passing second, even more so when he crossed his arms as though hugging himself.

"Do you hate me . . . that much?" he repeated, his tone no longer impassive, but actually, for the first time since I had known him, shaky and full of emotion.

For a long moment, he stared at me and I stared at him.

And my brain seemed effectively frozen, unable to process anything but the fact that I really, really wanted to go up to him, hug him, kiss him, do something to wipe that pain from his eyes and voice. Something. _Anything._ I owed it to him.

"What . . . Why?" I finally asked.

He swallowed, as though he was trying to choke down a piece of nerfsteak that was way too big for his throat but didn't want to choke. "I . . . I can sense your emotions. And I know your reaction when you realized who . . . what . . . I was," he explained, each word a knife in my heart. "And, well, I guess I just assumed – "

"You assumed that I hated you?"

Now it was him turn to wince every word, but that didn't stop him from nodding a yes.

"What? Why?" I exclaimed.

He shuffled his feet. "I could think of no other explanation," he said finally.

I stared.

Yes, I had feared him. Yes, I had been confused about him. Yes, I had wanted to get away from him. But only until my thoughts settled. But only until I had time to think about this. But only until I was ready to do some serious soul-searching.

I had never _hated_ him.

"I . . . well . . . It didn't endear you to me, but I didn't . . . _hate_ . . . you," I forced out, hearing my voice crack and wincing inwardly each time.

As if he didn't think I was already a fool.

"I was just . . . well . . . I needed some time. Okay, a _lot_ of time," I amended self-consciously. "But I'm not good at dealing with big things that just _boom!_ pop up. I need some warning beforehand. Like, a lot of warning."

For the first time, his eyes were tinged with a slight sense of dry humor when he looked at me. "A few days, months, or years?" he teased.

"How about a few light-years?" I shot back.

When he laughed, I blushed. Now I seemed even _more_ like a fool, so easily – _too_ easily swayed and won over and drawn in. It must be effortless to him; a few words, and I was already so off-balance that I had no hope of recovery without the total removal of his smile, his laugh, his _presence_ from my life and memory.

It was like an addiction.

And like all addictions, I knew it was bad for me – but I still didn't want to let it go.

"I do not yet think I have lived a light-year," he said lightly. "And neither have you, if I have not."

"I'm not _that_ young," I protested, stung by his implication of my naivety. Sure, it was true – but I didn't want it thrown in my face either.

He stiffened, as though I had threatened to slap him with merely those four words. A cloud settled over his features, wiping away the traces of his laughter as his features tightened and grew unreadable.

"I know," he said, and his voice was low and thrummed with pain.

Then I realized what _he_ meant – and realized that he had not meant his words as an insult, just merely to play along, not to hurt. And I, the naïve, insensitive person that I was, had jumped to conclusions _again_ and insulted him _again_.

"I didn't mean to – "

He raised a hand; I fell silent before I could hurt him any further.

Blast him. Now, after all his deceptions and lies and hurts, I was worried more about _his_ hurt than my own. No wonder I had fallen heads over heels so easily for him. Out of all the good, sensible, successful genes from my parents, it must have been just my luck to have gotten the no-common-sense-in-any-cell-in-my-body genes.

"I know what you meant. I am sorry. I should have been more careful about my word choice," he said gently, his voice bearing no trace of the pain I saw on his features. "I . . ."

I frowned when he suddenly blinked, stopping mid-sentence, and put a hand to his forehead.

"Ben?"

I stepped towards him, concerned, and only remembered a second later that his name was Obi-Wan and that I really shouldn't call him by "Ben" now that I knew his real name. But that concern was brushed aside; something was clearly wrong.

"It's nothing," he said.

But then he staggered, his breath coming in harsh pants.

Without thinking, I sprang to his side and grabbed his arms, preventing him from falling over. His Jedi reflexes had his hands free and on my shoulders instead. The good part? He didn't fall over, and the dizziness passed within a few seconds. The bad part? His move brought me close enough to him that I could almost believe I had just gained a new sense of claustrophobia.

And a revived desire to kiss him again.

He lifted his head, his blue-green eyes expressing a war that I could feel within myself.

He lost.

And we kissed.

For a few seconds, the world was righted again.

Then he wrenched himself backward, his eyes wide, face flushed, breath hurried. Panic and embarrassment filled his face, as though he was about to go and bang his head on the wall in self-reproach.

"I – I'm – I'm sorry," he stammered. "I shouldn't have – It was wrong of me – I shouldn't have taken advantage of you – "

I stared. Somehow, through the daze, I managed to blurt out a "What?"

Obi-Wan's face turned shuttered, as if he was no longer quite human but instead some sort of human replica droid. It was eerie, to say the least.

"I am sorry."

His voice was dead, almost, as if he could feel no emotion; no joy, no fear, no love, no anger, no sorrow, no _anything_. And then I could finally understand _why_ sometimes Jedi were called emotionless, heartless, and cruel – because in Obi-Wan's voice I could sense nothing of the joy, of the caring, and of the gentleness that he had revealed to me in the little time we had spent together. I knew it was there, but only because I had seen it. Had I not, I would have thought him nothing but a heartless droid.

And yet, at the same time, I knew it was killing him to say it.

But he was doing it anyways, because he thought that was what I wanted from him.

"Why?"

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, as if I had asked him why the galaxy existed or why the Republic did or why the Jedi learned how to fight.

As if it was obvious.

"I . . . I lied to you. I had no right to withhold my identity from you; on the contrary, it should have been the first thing that you knew of me. And I should have . . . I should not have . . . I am sorry, Miss Kyna. You were right." He hesitated, and his eyes clouded. "We cannot be together after all I have done to you. And for that, I apologize, although I know it shall do nothing in the way of reparations."

I stared at him. This time, the emotional undercurrent was clearer, and stronger, and much more _there_.

And then, for the first time, my path was clear.

I stepped towards him. "Obi-Wan, that's not what I asked you."

"What do you mean?" His eyes were clouded again; no doubt he was thrown off by my usage of his name rather than his title, as I had shouted at him last through his Jedi title rather than his name as he had requested.

"You didn't let me finish," I reprimanded. "I was asking you why you didn't tell me who you were. So . . . why, Obi-Wan? Why couldn't I know that you were Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

For a second, he seemed like he wasn't going to answer.

Then –

He began slowly, "Because I was tired."

At my confused look, he elaborated. "I was General Kenobi, the Negotiator, one of the heroes. You, I guess, were too young during the war – or too busy. But everywhere I went, I was growing tired of being assailed by women who had hopes that since the ban on attachment was lifted, I would finally choose them as my wife. But I did not want that. I have never wanted that. I was raised to be independent. I did not want a wife. And I thought that I would hold that belief until . . . well, until the end of my life."

"But?" I prompted, sensing the unspoken '_but_' contained there.

Obi-Wan lifted his eyes from the floor and met mine squarely. The confusion, the shutters, the impassiveness – they were all gone now. It was like a solid punch in the gut, the clarity I could see in the gaze.

"But then I met you," he said simply. "You can't even begin to comprehend just how . . . how _different_ you were – are."

"Different? Well, excuse me, but I didn't know who you – "

"That," he said, "was intentional."

I stared. I had know it was intentional, but for him to own up to it so quickly startled me. Finally, I asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You offered me something I had thought I had never wanted – a chance at normality. And I took it without thinking about it. Being just 'Ben' to you, just someone you actually liked for me instead of for who I was . . . it was like something out of a fairytale. And I didn't want to let go of that until the game had gone too far."

Suddenly, I understood everything.

His deception had not been against me or for even any hint of a malicious intention. He had just wanted to be another person for once, just a regular, normal, common man who could find someone he liked and who liked him for _him_ – not for his reputation.

And then I realized that I no longer harbored any anger or resentment against him anymore.

In fact, the only thing I felt was sympathy . . . and love.

He was still talking, but I didn't care anymore for his explanations. I understood the core and soul of them, if not the exact words, and for me, that was enough. He was Jedi, after all; he belonged to a completely different world. I could not hope to understand it all. But I could accept that he was different, and love him all the same. It was all he wanted. And it was the smallest and only gift I could give, so why not give it?

I raised a hand, stopping his words. "Obi-Wan," I said, and I savored the ability to speak his name once again without awkwardness, fear, or tension. "Obi-Wan, I don't care."

He blinked. "What – "

"Just listen. Please," I added.

He crossed his arms, his expression bland curiosity. But no longer could that fool me.

"Obi-Wan, I don't care. I know what you did. And I know why. But that's all I ever wanted to know. I don't care that you lied. I don't care about that, or anything. I know why you did it."

"But I – "

"_I don't care._ Not anymore. You got my forgiveness a long time ago, if that's what you want from me."

Obi-Wan tilted his head, the curiosity clear in his face now. However, I could see how acceptance crawled slowly over his face, reducing the curiosity to a sense of calm and peace. I forgave him and I understood him. He understood and forgave me.

"If you will offer me your forgiveness, then it only seems right for me to offer my own," he said finally.

"Thank you." I gestured at him. "The Temple delivered new clothes for you; they're by your feet. And your room's just down the corridor; you should have no trouble finding it. Anakin's in the room next to you."

"Anakin?" One eyebrow arched high as concern marred his face. "You met him? Is he all right?"

"He is fine. You were more injured than him."

I inclined my head, feeling certain that this was the last parting we would have, and also very thankful that it was at least somewhat of a civil one compared to our last. There was no shouting, no tension, no faults. We were done. It was over. And I was desperately trying to ignore the little whisper mourning the end of our interactions.

I had barely turned around before I felt a hand settle on my shoulder and he murmured, "Wait."

I froze. He hadn't touched me since . . . _No, I will _not_ go there._ "What is it?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.

He moved to stand in front of me; I avoided his eyes and looked straight at the ground. I heard him sigh, and then he cupped my chin, forcing me to look upwards while keeping me from running away by the hand on my shoulder.

"My forgiveness," he said slowly, "is it all that you want from me?"

I stared, shocked.

But the answer came out anyways – and _before_ I had time to think more about its appropriateness.

"No."

He tilted his head. "Then what else?"

I swallowed hard. I hadn't really thought over that answer before it had popped out of my mouth. But it _was_ true, and I was certain he could see that. And I was certain that he would get the answer of me anyways, especially since he knew my weakness, so . . .

"You."

My voice shook, my face heated up, my knees trembled, my voice cracked – but I said it.

And Obi-Wan blinked as though I had hit him.

"What?"

I stared wildly away from him, searching for an exit. I couldn't stay after saying something like – well, like that!

He noticed, unfortunately, and seconds later, both of his hands clamped down on my shoulders, preventing me from doing anything. He even pulled me closer to him, resulting in me pushing at his chest to try to get away only to remember that he was far stronger than me, so when he wanted his answer, he was going to stay put until he got it out of me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn't look at him. Especially not when I remembered that he was still half-naked under his robe because his skin was far too warm against my hands when I pushed against him.

"What do you want from me?" he murmured.

Blast his voice too.

But as much as I could blast it, it was still intoxicating, and it still had power over me. The answer was coming out of me whether I wanted it to or not, and . . .

"You. I want you."

And I waited, with bated breath and closed eyes and trembling body, for the blow to come.

Finally, he said, very, very quietly, almost so quietly I would have mistaken it for a sigh but for the way they resonated in my ears and heart and mind, "You already have me, Elaine, and you always will."

And then he tilted my head up, drew me abruptly towards him, and kissed me.

For another eternity, the entire galaxy boiled down to just me and him, and the flickering flame that was rising up to consume me again. Already, I was starting to feel weak and dizzy, and I knew it was only the tight embrace he had around me that prevented me from falling to the floor in a smiling, stunned daze. But I wouldn't have cared either way; he was kissing me, and he was mine, and I was more than okay with that.

But of course, like all perfect moments, it had to end somehow.

Obi-Wan drew back, slowly and carefully, and his expression was probably about as confusing as mine was – a mix of confusion, bliss, and dazed happiness.

I spoke first. "Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he countered, his voice gentle in his hypnotic power. "You were a contradiction if I ever saw one – "

"I'm not _that_ bad!"

" – and I like figuring out puzzles – "

"I am _not_ a puzzle!"

His eyes twinkled as he shushed me with a finger to my lips. "And, besides," he finished, his voice as soft as the kiss he rushed against my lips, "I still say that you're pretty."

I blinked. _What?_

He tapped my jaw with mock concern. "Come now," he chided, "didn't you learn when you were a child not to leave your mouth open if you don't want dust in your mouth? You've been complaining about it for . . . well, a long time, from what I sense from you. If not, perhaps your education has been lacking. . ."

My beached-whale impression changed to red-faced embarrassment. "You've been reading my _mind_?" I demanded.

He choked, sounding like he was halfway between a shout and a laugh.

"Obi-Wan. . ." I said threateningly.

His control broke, and he laughed. "Elaine, I can't read your mind. The Force doesn't go that far. I'm basing it on what I can sense, which would be your emotions, and what I know about your personality already."

I stared in dismay. "You know me that well?"

"Well . . ."

Obi-Wan pulled me closer, his arms forming a gentle yet affectionate embrace around me. I wanted an answer, but instead I rested my head on his chest and listened to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. I know he would speak if he wished; I didn't want to push him again, but I had already seen how much damage that could do. And in truth, I was already content with knowing that he still cared for me enough to forgive me.

"I think I know you well," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "But, if I may be so presumptuous . . . I still want to know you better, Elaine."

I closed my eyes and felt a smile cross my face as I buried my face in his chest, relishing the feeling of being back in his arms, still cherished by him, .

It was a perfect reunion. One I never could have expected.

But secretly, I realized, I had hoped for it all along despite my own mental debates against such a possibility. Why exactly I was not yet certain, but it was enough for me, this warm glow of contentment in knowing that Obi-Wan still cared for me and that we could now begin again where we had left off and that, right now, life seemed pretty good from where I was standing.


	8. Chapter 7

**_Dare Number 7_**

_Do I dare to tell him that I love him?_

"This blindfold is getting rather tedious, Kenobi," I muttered as I half-stumbled and barely caught myself.

Somehow – as usual – he heard me.

Obi-Wan laughed. "What, you don't trust me, Elaine? I won't let you fall."

"I just did."

"No, you _tripped_," he corrected steadily, his voice teasing and playful as it always was. "And I caught you before you actually fell. I can do nothing about your lack of coordination, even though I do wish I could."

"I am not clumsy – "

Just as I spoke, I tripped yet _again_ – and found myself headed down for yet another face-to-face meeting with the ground.

His arms were around me in a flash, lifting me back on my feet, as fingers brushed at my cheek. I felt a little thrill pass through me at the touch. It had been a while since we had finally reconciled, and thankfully due to his injuries he had not been sent away from me, but sometimes I still was rather startled to wake up and remember that we _had_ reconciled in the first place.

I was still waiting to wake up from my dream.

But Obi-Wan was so convincingly _real_ sometimes that it wasn't even funny. Like right now, with his arms around me and his voice close enough that a whisper sounded more like a shout in my ear.

"What was that again about not being clumsy?" he murmured, barely restrained laughter ringing in his voice.

I pulled away, my face flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, stow it, Mr. I-am-always-right."

Once, he would have winced.

Once, he would have released me immediately.

Once, he might have gone on for hours and hours apologizing.

Now, he knew me well enough to know that none of the above options was entirely necessary – especially when I was the person in question.

Instead of wincing, he laughed again. Instead of releasing me, he held me closer. And instead of apologizing, he said with the barest trace of smugness, "I _am_ always right, and I thank you for finally acknowledging it."

"You're insufferable."

He kissed my forehead. "And you are clumsy."

"You . . ." I sighed. "Why do I even bother arguing with you? You were given a medal in diplomacy, for stars' sake. . . I must have a tendency towards self-destructive behaviors."

"What?"

I poked him in the chest – or, at least, I thought it was the chest. It was hard to judge things with a blindfold making the whole world seem one monotone color. And Obi-Wan _excelled_ at sneaking up on me through his silence and regulation of breathing; dodging a poke was probably easy as blinking to him.

"_You_ are at fault there, and no bothering to deny it."

"May one ask _how_ I fuel self-destructive behaviors?" he asked.

"You always beat me in arguments."

I felt him shrug. "I always told you to choose your battles wisely. Especially your opponent – and your field."

"So, in other words, argue with Ash instead?"

Obi-Wan laughed again, and I felt his embrace tighten as he drew me closer. "That's one way to do it. But have you ever actually won an argument with her?"

"Uh . . . hmm. I never thought about that," I lied.

"So maybe not Ash."

I sighed. "Whatever. Fine. Can we discuss this when I am less sleep-deprived?" I pleaded.

He stroked my hair. "As you wish," he conceded, his voice no longer teasing but instead the normal warm tone of caring as it always was. "Don't worry; it's only for a few more minutes and we'll be there."

"Be . . . where?"

"You'll find out," he answered mysteriously.

It was the same response I'd been told about five times now. And it was getting tedious too.

Obi-Wan suddenly dropped my hand. I stopped walking immediately, startled at his abrupt move, especially since he hadn't let go of my hand since he had put the blindfold on at my apartment. And I was kinda wary of walking into something else this time. Okay, more than kinda. But better safe than sorry.

"Wait here," he told me. "I'll only be a few minutes, okay?"

"Obi-Wan – "

"You'll be fine," he assured me. "I'll be right back."

"I'm not allowed to see yet, am I?"

His smile was clear in his voice as he kissed me and warned playfully, "I'll know if you cheat."

"Because I was _so_ tempted."

A swish of cloth, and I knew he was gone. Where he was going, I had absolutely no idea. Obi-Wan was the master of self-control – especially when it came to keeping secrets. And extra especially when the secret was something he had told me was something special for just the two of us.

It was strange. We had had our reunion after a few weeks of being estranged, and yet everything seemed to running smoothly. When I looked at him, when I kissed him, when we ate together, I felt no awkwardness. I didn't even feel confusion. Just once glance at him was more than enough to banish that – I didn't want to even get to when he touched me or kissed me.

Ash had already picked up on that. She had cornered me when I had been getting ready because she had wanted to ask me something.

Well, she _claimed_ it was innocent.

So she had hacked into my apartment, scared the living daylights out of me, pronounced my dress inadequate, and proceeded to rummage through my wardrobe until she had come out, triumphant, with a dress I hadn't worn since . . . well, years ago. Ash and I had picked it out years ago because she had claimed that I needed a dress we both found beautiful. Finally, we had settled on this one. It had a midnight black skirt with flowers with turquoise petals and gold outlines, and the top part was the same turquoise color with flowers of silk petals decorating the neckline.

Unfortunately, I had never worn it. Or perhaps fortunately, because it had what I considered a low neckline and because Ash had squealed up a storm of "It's so _cute_!" when we had bought it.

Yeah. Did not want to deal with that.

But she had insisted until I had gotten a headache, and so I had consented. And felt my stomach quivering with butterflies when Obi-Wan had seen me and done a double-take.

Then, after forcing me into wearing the gown, she had got to talking. I had banished most of the conservation from my mind because it had been just too embarrassing and filled with wheedling and pleading and demanding – but I did remember one very vivid, very personal, very unnerving question: "_When are you going to tell him that you love him?_"

I, being me, had said, "_Never._"

And she, being her, had gotten the evilest gleam of plotting in her eye and said, "_I dare you to._"

Blast her. Ash was _excellent_ at manipulating me into corners where I had nowhere else to go. I wouldn't break a dare. But I also genuinely was scared of telling him.

Obi-Wan was a Jedi. I was just a third-year graduate from the Academy still studying for the Master levels. And he had already confessed that he really did not wish to marry or settle down; he had been taught otherwise for his entire life, and anyways, he wanted to devote his life to his duty – serving the Republic. To take that away from him would be to change the very core of who he was.

I couldn't do that.

Being a Jedi was literally his life. I couldn't ask him to choose me over it, because I know which he'd choose, and I couldn't stand the thought of such a painful rejection from him of all people.

So . . . that led to my dilemma.

I couldn't break a dare, because then Ash'd never let me live it down.

I also couldn't follow through with the dare, because then he'd feel that I wanted promises in return, and I would appear way too needy, and that would scare him off.

So, in effect, I was stuck.

And I couldn't tell him because that would bring up yet another round of issues I wasn't willing to face.

"Elaine?"

I jumped, startled as I was whenever his Jedi abilities lead him to accidentally sneak up on me. "If I get a heart attack, we know who's to blame," I said dryly.

Obi-Wan merely chuckled and took my hand again. "Come on; we have a ride to catch."

"What?"

He had to help me into the speeder, because obviously I couldn't see what I was doing. In other words, it provided plenty of opportunities for his skin to brush against mine and send my heart racing and spurring on another butterfly bonanza in my stomach. By the end of the whole encounter, I was thoroughly ready to hide my face in his cloak and never see daylight again.

After one seemed like an eternity, he parked the speeder.

I shivered. "Where are we?" It wasn't freezing cold – but my dress wasn't exactly meant for outside adventures either.

Obi-Wan slipped an arm around my waist, pulling his cloak around us both. "A lot of scientists and astronomers and . . . well, just normal people come here. Even the Jedi. There's supposed to be a shower tonight."

I pulled away in alarm. "You know I hate getting wet!"

"Not that type."

I frowned curiously. "Shower means rain, and rain means I get wet," I complained, "and when I get wet – "

"You get grumpy, I know." He caressed my cheek. "You still don't trust me do you?"

"This is an open cockpit speeder, Kenobi. It'll offer no protection against rain. And I will be soaked to the bone and _you_ will be in a lot of trouble," I threatened, glaring in his general direction.

He laughed. "I don't see any clouds, Elaine."

"Yes, well, I don't trust you as no doubt _you_ would have no problem with getting wet, but I hate getting wet and I can't see for myself. . ."

"Oh, yes. One second. . ."

And then, thankfully, he pulled the blindfold off.

I gasped.

We were in some sort of clearing with miles and miles of open sky around us. In distance, I could see the bright lights of Coruscant on even at this late hour, but here . . . here there were no lights, so the stars shone brightly, twinkling in shades of red and yellow and white. Everything seemed so untouched that I actually felt that the speeder, which could be found almost anywhere on Coruscant, was out of place for once.

"How did you – "

"The Jedi come here sometimes, for meditation, or to prepare for training exercises on places like this," he replied. "I pulled a few strings and got us a pass. . . Are you cold?"

"No." I frowned. "Why?"

He flashed me a charming smile. "You'll see in about, oh, five or six minutes."

I sighed as I leaned back against him. "Diplomacy? Check. Fighting? Check. Patience? Definitely check," I grumbled. "What _aren't_ you better than me at?"

Obi-Wan laughed, wrapping both arms around me and resting his chin on my head. I curled against him and rested my head on his shoulder. It was comforting, to be held so intimately like that, as if things would always stay this way and never change, that we would still be like this ten, twenty, thirty years from now, still together, still . . .

Still in love.

I fought back a groan and instead pressed my face closer to Obi-Wan's shoulder to avoid the blush I knew was coming.

Here was yet another reason not to tell Obi-Wan. After all, yes, I could admit I loved him, but . . .

That didn't mean he loved me back.

In fact, it almost 100% guaranteed that he didn't love me back.

I didn't know Obi-Wan as well as he knew me. But I did know how he viewed emotions. He talked about them as though they were . . . well, _primal_ and therefore that they ought to be carefully examined and controlled. I could understand why he didn't want emotions getting in the way of justice, for feelings didn't always point towards the right way in justice – but to do away with them entirely? To bury them deep, deep down? To acknowledge them and then throw them away in the name of duty?

Not quite the healthiest thing, I thought.

More like it made Obi-Wan a ticking time bomb of suppressed, bottled up emotions.

_If we were meant not to have emotions, we'd be droids._ That was my stance.

Especially as I knew that his suppression of emotion wasn't just because of duty or justice – it was because that was how he had been raised and taught and essentially indoctrinated. The Jedi Code forbade emotions simply because they feared that even a tiny taste or slip-up lead to the dark side.

Clearly, the Jedi had some issues about running away. Running away from emotions, locking them up, forbidding them – that didn't do anything.

After all, it usually was the flair of the forbidden that beckoned so attractively to many people.

Including, I knew, many of the women who had tried to get to Obi-Wan and only managed to annoy him in the process.

Obi-Wan shifted. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

I shook my head quickly. "No," I lied as smoothly as I could, "it's nothing."

He turned, a frown forming on his face. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out the reason for whatever he was picking up from me without pushing me too hard. "What I'm sensing from you cannot be merely 'nothing', Elaine; in fact – "

A flash of light sparked at the edge of my vision – strong, powerful, and eerily bright.

I whirled towards it, glad for something – _anything_ – that would give me an excuse to ignore his words. I didn't want to explain what was going on now. Yes, I was honor-bound to fulfill the dare, and I would eventually – but not now. I wanted to savor the quiet before the storm for as long as I possibly could.

Besides, Ash hadn't given me a time limit.

The flash streaked across the sky, almost quick enough that had I blinked I would have missed it. It was unnaturally bright, its heart a burning furnace red and its trailing tail a powerful orange-yellow.

"A meteor," I said.

Another asteroid joined the first, and then another, and then another, until it seemed like it was raining stars.

Obi-Wan said, "Yes. One of the largest of the year, actually, which is really the only reason we can see it. Coruscant's light pollution is very strong; even out here, the light is not as powerful and strong as it could be on a world like, say, Alderaan or Naboo, where the lights do not shine so long and brightly into the night. The peak time of the storm is approaching soon, too; you should see more and more as the hour progresses. Asteroids burn up as they – "

"Hush," I interrupted. "Give me the science lesson later."

He laughed and pulled me back against him. "I'll hold you to that."

I ignored him.

The meteor show was fascinating. I had never seen one; I had only heard of them, here and there, during my lessons. I never had liked science classes.

But these asteroids, shining with reds and yellows and blues, were almost enough to make me regret I hadn't become an astrophysicist, as I'd wanted to once when I had been younger. Or at least _something_ in that field.

Finally, when we were seeing five to six meteors a minute, something changed.

Suddenly, ribbons of orange and green and purple were swaying across the sky, sometimes mixing together in a giant, unnamed, fantastical creature, other times separating with a burst of flaring colors like a firework display. And with that delicate, shifting, dancing background, the meteors streaking across the sky seemed to complete a display as ancient as the universe yet at once still as beautiful as the first time it had ever happened.

"What is _that_?" I demanded, forgetting that I had been the one who had insisted on silence.

I heard the smile in his voice as he answered, "It's called aurora borealis."

"What?"

"Aurora borealis," he repeated slowly, emphasizing each syllable as though I was a child, "otherwise known as the northern lights. Sometimes, in myths, it is known as the shifting winds that signal a new dawn to come."

I tore my eyes away from the color show in the sky to stare at him. But he resolutely studied the sky, not even glancing at me.

_Does he know? _

_ How can he know?_

Did Obi-Wan sense that I held within me a revelation that could shift our relationship towards a new phase entirely?

I couldn't tell. He was too hard for me to read. I loved him, but I didn't know him very well.

Not ten minutes later, Obi-Wan leaned forward and started the speeder. "The peak's over," he announced. "Not many more meteors tonight. And the aurora borealis will end too; the flare that caused wasn't very big, if my memory serves me correctly."

I leaned back in my seat. "Did you know ahead of time?"

He shrugged. "I guessed. I did some calculations. But I wasn't totally sure, if that's what you're asking."

"What are the – "

"Chances of this happening?" he completed, sending me a sideways glance I couldn't quite interpret. "Perhaps one a million. Or maybe even less. It's very rare; no doubt it will be all over the Academy labs by tomorrow."

_One a million. You mean, like us being together?_

I didn't say that, though. Instead, I said, very quietly, "Thank you. For showing me."

"I thought you should see. Jedi often come here, for meditation or to prepare for training exercises, or even just to get out of the Temple." He paused, and his voice become softer. "I came here a lot too, with . . . with my Master. It was where I first saw a meteor show, many years ago."

_Master?_ Mentally, I ran through my very limited file on the Jedi Order. _Oh. Jedi Master._

_As in "father figure"._

"Thank you," I repeatedly softly.

He merely nodded.

But I knew what a big gesture it was, all the same. I had heard, vaguely, about the death of a Jedi Master on Naboo, and I had known that Obi-Wan was connected. And I had seen the power of the connection between Obi-Wan and Jedi Skywalker – almost like brothers. No doubt a father-son relationship would be even stronger. And for him to actually make the step to share something so personal with me. . .

_Wow. Definitely one a gazillion, then. _

My stomach rumbled suddenly. I bit my lip and tried to keep my gaze cool.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you eat dinner?"

"Yes."

"No," he sighed. "You didn't. You worked late tonight, didn't you? And you have the early shift tomorrow."

"I'll be fine."

"You aren't going to get enough sleep either." His tone was disapproving. "At this rate, I should escort you to your bed myself and give you a sleep-suggestion to make sure you sleep."

"I get more than enough sleep."

"Hmm. Then explain the circles under your eyes."

"You have them too!"

"Yes, but I can go without sleep longer than you. The Force – "

" – is something I don't have. And besides, I can catch up on the weekends."

"That isn't healthy."

"Neither is running on protein cubes, bacta, and the Force."

"I'm used to it."

"And I'm used to long hours."

"Obviously not, or you'd have learned to pack ration bars and snooze in between shifts. Which you aren't."

"I have responsibilities! My patients – "

"Are not here."

I crossed my arms grumpily. "Why do I even bother arguing with you? Sheesh. You probably have a medal somewhere about your diplomatic abilities."

Obi-Wan didn't look at me, but I saw how his lips tightened as he tried not to laugh. He parked the speeder and vaulted over the door with practiced ease before opening my side and extending a polite helping hand.

"Here we are," he said.

I unlocked the apartment and rolled my eyes when he headed straight for the kitchen.

"Stars above, you barely have any food in here." Obi-Wan's voice was muffled and even more disapproving.

"I live alone. Who else is eating?"

"This isn't a joke."

"Yes, because I'm feeding a homeless addict with the rest of my paycheck," I said sarcastically, digging through my purse. "Obi-Wan, seriously, I don't eat that much. There's no point in buying a pantry's worth of food. . . Did you see my passcard?"

"No. Why?"

"It's not here. I think I left it in the speeder."

Obi-Wan sounded vaguely amused when he asked, "If it was in your purse, how did you do that?"

I gave my purse a vicious shake. Nothing. Scowling, I snapped my purse shut. "Be quiet, Mr. Obsessively-Neat. We can't all be perfect." I headed for the door, mentally running through a back-up list of other locations it could be. "I'm going outside to look."

"Happy hunting!" he called.

I scouted around the floor, but it revealed nothing. And nothing in the seat.

But when I poked my head to look under the chair, I hit my head on something that made a compartment pop open and bang me on the head.

"Ow!"

I jerked back upright, glaring at the offending compartment.

Then my ire faded instantly when a roll of gauze meandered slowly out, followed by a stack of bacta patches, an emergency kit, collapsible glow rod, ration bars, and what looked like a week's worth of protein cubes.

I shoved everything in haphazardly; Obi-Wan could rearrange everything at his leisure. Which he would anyways, once he opened it again and realized it had been tampered with. Only the gauze resisted my attempts, so I sighed, picked it up, and started to rewind it so that it would at least fit back in the compartment and I could go back inside.

And then I realized that the gauze hadn't been used.

_Obi-Wan was supposed to change the bandages every twelve hours_, I remembered. We had given him the supplies because Bant had told us of his aversion to the Temple healers and his tendency to try and treat his injuries by himself no matter how life-threatening they were.

My passcard completely forgotten, I slammed the compartment shut, closed the speeder door, and stormed back into the apartment.

Obi-Wan wasn't in the entry hall. Or the kitchen. Or the pantry. Or even the bathroom.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Over here," I heard him say.

I poked my head in the living room open to find him standing by the mantel holding a holopicture. I stopped in tracks when I realized what the picture was. It was normal, by most terms: just me and Ryan, dancing with laughter on both of our faces. It had been the last time I had seen him before we had graduated and lost contact with each other.

There was something in Obi-Wan's face when he looked at it. Something strange. . .

"Who is he?"

"Ryan," I answered. "He was one of my classmates at the Academy. That was at one of the formal dances I was forced to attend. We both didn't really want to go, but we had to, so we thought why not just spare each other the embarrassment and go together. . ."

I then realized how thoroughly off track I'd gotten.

I put one hand on my hip and brandished the other with the roll of gauze, making my fury known in my eyes.

Obi-Wan blinked. Then he slowly set the picture down. A half-smile crept across his face as he faced me and crossed his arms. A curtain of impassiveness slid over his face.

"You haven't been changing it?"

He hesitated. "I have had no need to," he replied.

"Stars above, do you _want_ to get an infection?" I demanded, marching threateningly over to him.

"I'm not – "

"Oh, never mind," I interrupted. "Gods know that you haven't gone to the healers to get it checked either, have you? Sit down, _now_, and take your shirt off so at least I can check what exactly the Jedi have to focus on when they are doing an autopsy on your dead body because _someone_ got an infection and didn't change the bandage."

Obi-Wan flashed a dry smile at me. "Bossy as ever," he said, his voice muffled by his tunic as he shrugged it off and dropped it next to his cloak.

"Stow it."

But when he finally removed his under tunic, I could only blink in surprise.

There was nothing there.

No week-old bandage, no dried blood, no mottled bruises. His skin was as clean and unblemished as though he'd never been wounded in his entire life and certainly not as seriously as I knew he had been.

I dropped to my knees to study it closer – but no, nothing. Just the faintest of pale pink scars to mark the wound.

I lifted my head. "What – How – " I stammered.

He leaned forward and gently lifted me to sit beside him on the couch, his blue-green eyes dancing with suppressed amusement. He carefully pried away the roll of gauze and bacta patches from my numb hands, because I could do nothing other than stare at his chest in amazement, because the wound had, quite simply, vanished completely.

Finally, I asked, "How did you _do_ that?"

Obi-Wan smirked, leaning back casually. "Even Jedi who aren't healers learn basic techniques, like healing trances," he said matter-of-factly. "I've gotten rather good at them because . . . well . . . I think you know."

"And it can do . . . that?"

"And more." He smiled. "But it's usually a one in a million chance that it actually works."

_One in a million chances. But somehow, for some reason, it worked._ My breath caught as I remembered how wounded, how sick, how close to death Obi-Wan had been. _If I didn't believe in miracles before, now I do. . ._

"That's amazing," I breathed. "It's like . . . Wow. I could almost believe you came back from the dead with that."

Something changed in his eyes, like he was wincing internally. Pain suddenly replaced amusement, as if he was remembering something, like I had brought up some really bad memories with my words. Something was seriously wrong, but I couldn't figure out what. . .

"I'm sorry, did I say – "

He held up a hand. "It is nothing," he said firmly.

I nodded sheepishly. _Way to go, Elaine. One date in and you're already offending the man. Brilliant._

"Elaine?"

I looked up. "Hmm?"

Obi-Wan had that same pensive, uneasy, troubled look on his face, as if he was bracing himself for something very unpleasant but was going to do it anyways in typical self-sacrificing mode.

"Do you . . . Did you . . . I mean . . . How is your relationship with . . . with Ryan?"

I blinked at him. _What?_ "Um . . . okay?" I offered weakly. At the expression on his face, I continued, "Honestly, Obi-Wan, I've barely seen him since I graduated. We sort of . . . lost contact with each other. It wasn't anything to really get worked up about; he had his life and I had mine."

He looked at me.

I sighed.

"Okay, fine, we did reestablish," I admitted.

His eyes darkened, but his tone remained unchanged. I could see the tension in his hands, placed so delicately on his knees, as if he was one step away from clenching them into fists in frustration or sorrow or something.

"And do you wish to stay with him?"

"Well . . . yeah . . . I mean . . . He _was_ my friend. I can still be friends with him."

His eyes cleared. "Friends?"

And then I got it.

I crossed my arms and glared at him again. "You thought I was going to dump you for him?" I exclaimed, needing to say it to believe it.

Obi-Wan bit his lip – which was as good as a dead giveaway.

"I'm not quite . . . the best choice . . . for you," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "You'd have a better chance with someone . . . well, closer to your own age. Someone you know very well. Someone you already know you get along with. Someone who doesn't have to . . . doesn't have to lie to you. He would be a better choice."

"Not in a million chances!"

He sighed and relaxed against the couch. "Then I guess I am very lucky." He paused. "Or hallucinating."

I hit his shoulder.

"What – " he stuttered, recoiling in surprise.

"You're not hallucinating," I pointed out cheerfully. "Not if you can feel that."

He rolled his eyes. "You are insufferable too, Elaine." But a hint of a smile tugged at his lips as he spoke, and the sting was far less than anything he could have ever said. It was even further reduced when he held his arms out and pulled me close to him.

I snuggled close, strangely tired yet content.

Then I remembered.

_One in a million chances._ I glanced down at his chest, where the scar still was. And where about three hundred other ones were, from all sorts of dangers on missions. How many had he seen die? Saved from death? How many times had he faced death right in the eye and only barely escaped with his life? How many times?

_I guess there's no better time to tell him than now._

After all, he might not come back next time.

"Um, Obi-Wan?"

His fingers stilled in my hair, warm and gentle and inquisitive all at once. "Yes?" he murmured, his tone clear that he wasn't really paying attention.

"I think . . . I think . . ."

_Oh, just say it already!_ Ash's voice in my head said, the words like a sharp jab to the ribs.

_Fine!_ I snapped.

"Obi-WanIthinkIloveyou," I said very, very quickly.

He laughed, still at ease, still unconcerned, still teasing. It was obvious that he hadn't understood what I had said, even though I knew that I could feel the inquisitive tension in his hand, resting so lightly against my neck. He sensed something was off; he just didn't know what and wasn't exactly very concerned yet.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I was _not_ looking at him when I fulfilled this dare. Not if I wanted to escape with at least a few shreds of my dignity and self-respect and confidence intact.

Assuming he didn't laugh me off and break up with me, of course.

"Obi-Wan, I think I love you."

I waited for the blow to come. Or the laugh. Or the disbelief. They would all be blows to me anyways.

But nothing.

No sound, no movement, no . . . _anything_.

It was like he was frozen, either unable or unwilling to comprehend what I had just said. I hoped for unable. I knew it was unwilling. And the shard of ice lodged in my heart started to expand just a little bit. . .

"You . . . what?"

He sounded breathless, dazed, confused – none of which spoke well to the situation I now found myself in.

I swallowed hard. "I said I think I love you," I whispered in the quietest tone of voice possible.

Another beat of silence.

Then Obi-Wan's hand vanished from the back of my neck, and suddenly he was pushing me away and his hand found my chin and tilted it up.

Startled, my eyes flashed open instinctively.

And locked with his.

Now, instead of wanting to look away, I found I couldn't. His blue-green eyes stared squarely into my own, and I could not escape them no matter how much I wished to, because he would not let me. He was a Jedi, and he knew how to use the Force. He was also a general, used to demanding truth and finding it one way or another – and now I was feeling just how much power he could bring to bear.

"Elaine," he murmured finally, "are you . . . Are you certain?"

Caught in the power of his gaze, demanding truth, I gave it to him. "Yes." My voice was so soft perhaps only a very powerful, very sensitive sensor would have picked up on it – but he did hear it. Somehow.

Because then he suddenly pulled me to him and kissed me as though it was the last time he would ever see me alive.

And then he was laughing, and holding me close, and murmuring, "I think I love you too."

I yanked myself away and started frantically pacing. I _had_ to be dreaming. It couldn't be _that_ easy – there was no way it could be that easy. He was Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi Master, the Negotiator, the famous Clone Wars General. I had to be dreaming.

"You need to pinch me," I told him. "Really, really hard."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Why in the name of the Force would I do that?" he asked, rising and stopping my frantic whirling.

"Because I am dreaming, or hallucinating, or . . . or something, and I need to snap out of it before I do something I regret, and I'm not such which will be worse."

"Worse?"

I nodded sheepishly. "Leaving the dream or staying it in and knowing it's a dream," I explained.

He sighed. "You are not dreaming, Elaine. And I am not going to pinch you."

"Why not?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then trust me when I say you are not dreaming.

He kissed me again, and I knew that he was right. I was trying, once again, to justify something that didn't need to be justified. I had told him that I loved him. I had fulfilled the dare. And he, amazingly and unbelievably and totally unforeseeably, had accepted it – and then said that he loved me in return.

I suddenly became hyper aware of the fact that Obi-Wan still didn't have his shirt on. And that actually I rather preferred him without it. And that there were some rather naughty thoughts running in my head with my hands pressed against the solid warmth of his chest. . .

He broke the kiss, and gazed at me with wavering resolve.

"Are you completely certain?" he asked. "I cannot give you anything – I cannot even promise you anything. I will not force you. If you need time . . ."

"I won't. I trust you."

"Are you sure about your decision? Completely, absolutely, 100% sure? I don't want you to get yourself into something you don't want only to find that out later."

"Would you just shut it and kiss me? I already said that you're not leaving tonight."

He laughed, drawing me closer. "Well, _that_ I _can_ promise."

"Good."

I buried my face in his chest, breathing in his warm scent and relishing the feeling of security from his embrace and the affection I could see in his blue-green eyes. Maybe I was hallucinating, or dreaming, or _something_. But right now, I didn't really care. Right now, I had his love and he had mine – and that was good enough for me.

At least for tonight.

Hopefully, for many years to come.


	9. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

~ __Elaine Kyna__ ~  
>It was just supposed to be a fun game.<p>

Ash, one of my best friends, coaxed me to go on a girls' night out. She was just basically complaining that I didn't see her or the rest of my friends too much; after all, I did have a sick father to care for on top of trying to take care of all the bills on my own. I told her it wasn't my fault. But she still shamed me into arranging for at least one night we could all get together and relax.

Unfortunately or fortunately, I agreed to her demands.

After the shopping and the dinner, we had sat down and started reminiscing over the events that had happened when our friendship was strong during school. Then Luciana had suggested that we play a game.

Unfortunately or fortunately, I agreed to play with them.

The game was truth or dare. The results were mildly amusing.

Well.

Mildly amusing for everyone but me. Especially since Ash had given me not one but _seven_ dares. All of which I was honor-bound to follow through.

I did.

Which was why I found myself now waking up in my bedroom with a warm body nestled behind me, an arm affectionately draped over my waist, soft breaths rustling the back of my long hair. It didn't alarm me, what had happened the night before. I had wanted it. I had welcomed it. Heck, I had _initiated_ it.

No stress.

At least, until I started looking at the time that had passed.

Only a little over a month, I had gone from being happily single to head-over-heels in love with someone.

I didn't just love Obi-Wan Kenobi. Somehow, from the first time we had met by complete and embarrassing accident, I had gotten to know him and proceeded, then, to fall so deeply in love with him that I felt almost like I was only half of a person when he was gone.

I had chosen to play the game. I had accepted the potential risks. I had dealt with the consequences.

But if there was one vivid memory, it was how resistant I had been to the whole thing in the beginning. I had fought Ash in every way I could; I had tried to distance myself from Obi-Wan in every way I could; I had tried and tried and tried.

I had failed, of course.

I had been shaking with fear when I had crashed the Senatorial Gala, but I had gone in and danced and met people. I had been annoyed and scared when I had contacted Obi-Wan for our first date, but I had gone on the date and had fun and gotten to know him. I had been stressed and exasperated when I had taken case 42, but I had taken the case and treated him to the best of my ability.

Simply put, I had not been able to resist Obi-Wan's spell.

True, he wasn't aware of how he cast his net about me. He probably hadn't even wanted to. But he had, and he had caught me, and I was done struggling against the flow.

Because I loved him.

And now I knew that he loved me back.

Obi-Wan stirred faintly. "Good morning." His voice was warm and soft, sending ripples of affection and adrenaline through my body. The spell was beginning, and it was dragging me down farther than it ever had – but, hey, I wasn't going to fight it any longer. I wanted this.

I smiled and snuggled against him. "Five more minutes," I protested sleepily.

He chuckled, and I felt him kiss the top of my head. "You've had eight hours of sleep," he scolded. "How much more do you need?"

"Four years, twelve months, and thirty-one days."

I could almost see his eyebrow going up. "Elaine, you might as well say five years and a month."

I considered it for quick second. "Yeah. I could have." Then I buried my face back into the pillow. I really did want some more sleep. And it was so comfortable here, when I was protected by the security and warmth of Obi-Wan's embrace. I didn't want to budge an inch. I could have rested like this forever and still wanted more.

He stroked my hair. "Very well," he relented. "I have the day off anyways. 'Medical leave,'" he quoted in a disgusted tone.

"You need it."

"I'm perfectly healed."

"Because you cheated."

"Applying the skills you have to the task is not cheating."

"Until you're a Jedi."

"You can't _become_ a Jedi, so there is no 'until' that can be discussed."

I groaned. "Oh, I give up. Good night."

He laughed and tugged me closer to him, as if he couldn't bear to have any type of separation between us when we were so close. He placed his arm over my waist, kissing my cheek before he lay back down and apparently became content to meditate or go back to sleep or just sit there or . . . or watch me sleep.

Well, that was an unnerving thought.

"Elaine?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure about this?"

Frowning, I turned around. He had propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes darkened by some unhappy thought or emotion. It was strange, to think of him as actually having such emotion, for once to me he had been the emotionless Jedi Master.

"About . . ."

He gestured shortly. "Everything. This." He hesitated. "Us."

I blinked. "Why wouldn't I be certain?"

He sighed. I got the feeling that he was preparing himself for something unpleasant – the same way he had braced himself before he had asked if I hated him.

"You are not the first, you know," he explained, his tone cracking as though it winced as he did. "And those before you . . . well, they say they are certain that this is all they want – that they are satisfied and need nothing else. But I know too well that this can only last so long, and I have no wish to prolong your pain. . .

"Elaine, you _do_ need to think carefully about this. And preferably when I am not here to sway or distract you. About whether this will be enough, because you know as well as I do that this is all I can give you. Just this. Nothing else. Nothing will change. You need to know if _this_ is what you want from me and yourself, and if you can be happy with it. If not, then you will have made your choice, and you should know that I will respect and obey – "

I placed my hand over his mouth. "Okay. You do need to shut it once in a while and trust me."

His eyes flickered with confusion.

"I mean it," I warned. "No talking."

After a short while, he finally nodded and I took my hand away.

"Now, would you listen to me once and for all?" I complained. "I've told you over and over that I've already made my mistake as to what my choice would be. I'm not making it again. My choice was made last night, and I'm sticking by it.

"Are your ears open now? _I love you._ I don't want anyone else. And I don't want you to leave either."

I hesitated as a new thought struck me. The only possible reason he would bring this up would be . . . "Unless, of course, _you_ want to leave."

Obi-Wan's smile was blinding as he kissed my forehead, and this time there was no hesitation, no resistance, no uneasiness. Finally, it seemed, my words had sunken in and he had accepted the facts that I set forward as the truth and the only truth for us.

"No. I was just worried that you – "

"Not happening. Unless I go completely crazy, in which case I fully expect you to save me."

"You're already crazy. Not much I can do about that."

"Hush. Can I sleep now?"

He tried to hold back his laughter, but I could tell from the way his body shook with restrained laughs as he pulled me close.

"Be quiet," I grumbled, burying my face in his chest and feeling my face flush with embarrassment. Even after all this time, after everything we had said, after everything that had happened, he was still able to make me feel like a silly little girl who had no chance of ever measuring up to him.

Yet he wanted me. For some odd reason that only he could fathom.

I curled against his body, closing my eyes. The sun was shining already; I could feel the warmth of its rays on my face. Normally I would already be up and working. But I was sleepy. And we had overcome our hurdles. Now it was time for peace and quiet and just time for us.

Obi-Wan stroked my hair. "I love you," he murmured.

I smiled sleepily. The comfort and the affection were clear in his voice; it could not have been clearer had he shouted it from the roof of the Jedi Temple itself.

I took a deep breath. "I love you too," I whispered back, knowing it was the only reassurance I could ever give him. It was my greatest and only gift that I could give to Obi-Wan, but I would give it all too gladly.

And one more thing. . .

"Obi-Wan?"

"Yes?"

"Truth or dare?"

He blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Truth or dare?" I repeated, enunciating each word so carefully and slowly a toddler would have caught it.

He tilted his head, his blue-green eyes brimming with playfulness and amusement. Now instead of looking wary enough to be on a battlefield, he looked like he was going to tease me, as he would tease a little child playing grown-up.

Not really encouraging. But oh well.

"Can I trust you enough to say 'dare'?" he asked teasingly.

"Oh hush. But good."

"Good?"

"I dare you to . . . let's see. What dare would make a Jedi Master squirm?" I pretended to be deep in thought, containing my laughter as confusion and wariness started to appear in his eyes.

"Elaine – "

"I know!" I grinned. "I dare you to kiss me."

The amused light returned in full force, and a grin filled his own face. "Oh? And let's see . . . should I fulfill it now or attack you later?"

"Attack me?" I exclaimed.

Obi-Wan lunged forward – and started tickling me. I squeaked in surprise before my body started to register the fingers mercilessly tickling me, and then I found myself laughing helplessly as I tried to fend him off. I squirmed, but he was merciless and didn't let me go. And he was _laughing_ at me, the cheeky trickster.

When he finally stopped, I was out of breath and still helplessly laughing, curled in an almost fetal position with his arms around me.

He smiled. "I think I win." Then he leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

"Not nice," I complained, slowly uncurling to press myself against the warmth of his body. "Cheater."

His eyes twinkled. "Jedi don't cheat," he countered matter-of-factly. "We merely take advantage of the resources at hand that we can apply our skills to."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "That doesn't count."

"Oh?"

Then Obi-Wan leaned forward and kissed me straight on the lips.

And I was in heaven again.

"How about that?" he murmured, his face inches from my own, his eyes sparkling with affection and teasing.

"Better," I allowed.

"Hmm. . ." He kissed my cheek, and then my nose, and then my forehead. "Perhaps I need to do it again before you forgive me, I guess, hmm? Would Her Highness be pleased with me then and accept my plea of her forgiveness?"

"Maybe."

It was just supposed to be a fun game.

What it did in reality was that it turned my entire life upside down – for the worse or the better, I can't yet tell. I think it'll be for the better.

After all, fortunately, I made the choice to go along with everything.

And thus fortunately, I must deal with the consequences – good and bad – of my choice. But mostly good.

Secretly, though, I know that the good is worth any bad that might follow.

So I leaned forward and kissed Obi-Wan again, and I knew that life would be good when he kissed me back as he wound his arms tightly around me. I loved him, and he loved me, and now nothing would come between us.

And all because of a single, little, simple dare to crash a Senatorial Gala.

Yep. All because of a "Do I dare?"

**_The End_**

* * *

><p>So . . . comments? Reviews? Was the ending okay? It's been a busy week for me, so I'll get back to any questions posed to me in reviews sometime this weekend. In the meantime, thanks to everyone who has read andor reviewed this story!


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